


Hope/Lost Drabbles

by cytheriafalas



Series: Hope/Lost Verse [3]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, SHINee, Super Junior
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Drabbles, Drug Use, Fluff, Gen, Hope/Lost Verse, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cytheriafalas/pseuds/cytheriafalas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The collection of drabbles in my Hope/Lost verse that apparently never made it over. Bands tagged other than SHINee generally serve minor roles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drabble 1

**Author's Note:**

> A quick, fluffy one-shot set in the Hope For Our Happy Endings verse. Reading Hope isn't really necessary to appreciate the fluff, but it's useful for understanding. Partly inspired by a review and partly because I need to practice my fluff.

Taemin frowned down at the book in front of him. He hated reading. The stupid squiggles were meaningless to him, even if he could remember what shapes made what sounds. The bed shifted and Minho’s arm slid over his waist, his chin hooking over Taemin’s shoulder, draping half of his body over Taemin.

“Sound it out,” he encouraged, the warmth of his closeness spreading through Taemin’s body like a gentle wave. “You know what it means.”

“I hate this,” Taemin said.

He could practically feel Minho’s smile. “Try for me?”

He huffed, but focused again on the sentence. “‘I don’t see why you should be afraid of that, since our…’” he hesitated. Minho encouraged him with a gentle squeeze around his waist. “‘Since our c… con… conversation is perfectly in… no… cent.’ Inno… cent. Innocent.”

“There you go,” Minho said, kissing the side of his neck. “Not so hard, is it?”

Taemin looked at him sideways and Minho smiled. He sighed and turned back to the book. “‘No one who heard it could object to it.’” Having finished out the paragraph, he slammed the book shut, after taking enough time to dog-ear the page. As it was a paperback, the sound was less than satisfactory, but he supposed he got the point across.

Minho chuckled warmly in his ear. “Finished?”

Taemin rolled over looking up at Minho. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind his boyfriend’s ear. His boyfriend. That knowledge still made his heart flutter. He looked at Minho for a second, his eyes running along the slope of his nose, the slant of his eyes, the proud angle of his jaw. Taemin could have been happy just looking at him, drinking in the love that  _always_  shined in his eyes, even when they argued, which they had only done a time or two since Taemin had moved in with him.

Minho’s lips curved into a gentle smile and that was another thing Taemin loved. He loved Minho’s lips. He loved feeling them against his skin, he loved running his thumb across them when they were still damp from kissing, he loved the way they looked when Minho was doing pretty much anything. He loved that his smile was nothing like the other smiles he’d seen in his life. It was never wicked or cruel or reveling in Taemin’s weakness. Even when Taemin was bare, physically or emotionally, that smile just made him feel like everything about him  _mattered_.

“Minho?”

“Hm?”

“Were we dating before you said you loved me?”

A brief flash of confusion spread across Minho’s face. He sighed. “We… went about this dating thing very strangely, Taeminnie.”

“Were we?”

“I don’t know,” Minho said. “If it had been any other couple, I would say yes, but you didn’t really understand. You’re so old in so many ways,” Taemin chose not to take offense at that, “but you’re so young in others. I didn’t want to take advantage of the fact that you didn’t understand relationships.”

Taemin let his head fall back to the pillow that had been resting beneath his chest while he read. “When did you fall in love with me, then?”

Minho leaned down and kissed him, dragging his teeth across Taemin’s lower lip until he opened his mouth. He did, arching up a little to let Minho deepen the kiss. Minho smiled again, his tongue brushing against Taemin’s and Taemin would have willingly surrendered everything to be able to stay like this forever. He couldn’t get used to the way Minho kissed, the only person who had ever kissed him like they’d wanted him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Taemin reminded him when they broke apart, Minho’s breathing just a little unsteady.

“I’m getting there,” Minho said. “You looked too good to pass up.”

“You sound like you were planning on eating me.”

Minho winked at him, but kissed his cheek. He lowered himself to the bed, lying on his back at Taemin’s side and looking over at him. “When did I fall in love with you? I don’t know. The moment I saw you bleeding in the park, probably. I  _realized_  I loved you when I was at your… house… and you were going through the withdrawals. It was probably four or five days in and you were still pretty out of it. I was telling you a story, because that’s the only way I could get you fall asleep. It was some stupid one about the time we were behind on filming and we had to film the entire scene in about an hour. It was supposed to be this romantic scene with the couple walking through this street market, but we were losing the sun so we made them jog and it looked absolutely ridiculous.”

“I remember this,” Taemin said, finally remembering. “You won awards for that scene.”

Minho laughed. “They thought it was a ‘creative new take on modern romance,’ yeah. Anyway, I had been telling you the story and you fell asleep holding my hand. That was when I finally decided that you’d be okay, because you actually looked peaceful. You looked…” he hesitated and laughed self-consciously. “You looked so young and really pretty, with your hair over your face. I just wanted to hold you and make everything better.

“I was going to get up, but when I tried you wouldn’t let go of my hand. I wasn’t sure if you really were asleep or not, so I said your name and you smiled,” Minho ran his fingers along Taemin’s cheek, “kind of the way you are now.”

Taemin rolled over and buried his face against Minho’s shoulder in embarrassment. Minho laughed, a full, deep sound, and rolled over to meet him. He slipped his arms around the younger man and pulled him in close. Taemin nuzzled against Minho’s warm throat.

“I love you,” Taemin said, “so much.”

“I love you, too, baby.”


	2. Drabble 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy OnKey in the Hope For Our Happy Endings verse. Reading Hope isn't really necessary to appreciate the fluff, but it's useful for understanding. Written for someone for guessing what Taemin was reading in Drabble 1.

“K-Kibum?”

Key turned toward Jinki, who was coming out of the kitchen with a glass of wine for each of them. The older man had a faint blush climbing his cheeks as though he’d already had a glass and he was walking with slightly unsteady steps. That might have just been Jinki, though.

He reached out and took one of the glasses, smiling when the blush climbed higher on Jinki’s cheeks. There was something absolutely endearing about someone reacting so strongly to his presence. His fully clothed, unpaid presence.

“Yeah?”

“D-Do you want to sit?”

Key smiled, ducking his head. “I am sitting, Jinki. Come on. It’s just me.”

“I know. That’s the problem,” Jinki mumbled, but he sat at Key’s side. Key’s smile faded, a frown forming on his face.

“Is everything okay? I can go… if you want. I know that…” Key paused to swallow. “I know that I can make people uncomfortable, but--”

“What?” Jinki asked, gesturing frantically, almost spilling his drink in his haste. His inherent clumsiness got markedly worse when he was nervous, Key noticed. “No, no, no. I didn’t mean that. Kibum,  _no_.”

Key pretended not to feel the wave of relief crash through him. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. I didn’t mean…” Jinki took a deep breath. “Let me start over, okay?”

That made Key smile again, but he looked down at the deep red wine in his glass, taking a sip.

“Do you like red wine? I should have asked. I could have gotten white.”

Key laughed openly. “Red is fine, I promise.”

“Good. Um…” Jinki took a drink of his own wine. “Kibum, I… can I talk to you?”

“That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?” Key knew he was teasing and felt a little bad when Jinki blushed again, even if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He set his glass down and reached out to touch his arm. “Yes. You can talk to me.”

“I know you’re kind of thinking what to do and where to go, because it’s pretty obvious that Minho really cares for Taemin. I want you to know that I care about you. I mean, I care about Taemin. But… No, I mean--”

Key took the glass from Jinki’s fingers, setting it on the table. Jinki watched him, some faint hope blossoming in his eyes. He leaned forward, resting his hand on the back of Jinki’s neck and drawing him in close.

“I care about you, too, Jinki.”

He caught the bright smile on Jinki’s face just before his eyes fluttered shut and he was pressing his lips to Jinki’s, feeling the hitch of the older man’s breath. The kiss was innocent, just the simple press of their lips together.

“Oh,” Jinki said, when they pulled apart.

Key laughed softly, nervously, his heart pounding. He really hadn’t kissed that many people in his life, and it scared him. The ones he had kissed, he hadn’t cared about. This was different and this was terrifying.

Jinki seemed to understand, taking Key’s hands in his. Key couldn’t even look up, despite his initial boldness. Jinki reached for Key’s chin, tilting his head up until their eyes met.

“You’re beautiful, Kibum,” Jinki whispered before their lips met again. Jinki was gentle. He pushed a little, encouraging Key to part his lips, but then retreated, letting him decide if he was going to deepen the kiss. When he did, Jinki let their tongues press together, running the tip of his tongue along the roof of Key’s mouth, making him shiver, then pulling away.

Key blushed bright pink, pressing his face into his hands. Jinki laughed softly, pulling Key into his arms. Key tucked his head against Jinki’s chest.

“This okay?” Jinki asked.

Key nodded. “This is okay. This is more than okay.”


	3. Drabble 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy TaeKey friendship set during Lost in the Hope/Lost verse. Reading Hope isn't really necessary to appreciate the fluff, but it's useful for understanding. Written for someone for guessing what Taemin was reading in Hope/Lost Drabble 1.

“Does anyone know where Kibum went?”

“Probably looking at the babies,” Jinki said, yawning into his hand. “I think that’s where he said he was going.”

Taemin disentangled himself from Minho, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips. “Thanks.”

His boyfriend squeezed his fingers before letting him go and drifting back to sleep. The hospital was beginning to wake up, shifts changing and the earliest of the day-time patients coming to be checked in, but Taemin ignored all that. He walked toward a dark shape huddled in a sweatshirt by the nursery.

“Kibum?”

His head lifted and he smiled. “Hey, Taeminnie.”

“How’s the plan to steal Kate’s baby going?”

“Jinki won’t let me. He did promise me a puppy when we get home, though.”

Taemin laughed. “Poor Kibum.”

Kibum looked over at him, a sly smile curling his lips. “I’m going to find one that looks like Jonghyun.”

“No, I take it back. Poor Jinki. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.”

“I know,” Kibum said, but he was smiling. “Look how pretty he is.”

“You sound like he’s your nephew instead of mine.”

Kibum shrugged. “He is pretty. I bet you looked like him when you were a baby.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Taemin said. “There are no pictures of me.”

Kibum put his arm around Taemin’s shoulders. “At least no one has embarrassing pictures to blackmail you with. Besides, I take it back. You were probably really, really funny looking.”

Taemin scoffed, shoving at him. “You probably weren’t any better. I bet you had a weird looking face.”

“I never had a weird looking face.”

“You still  _do_  have a weird looking face. It’s all pointy and has funny angles.”

“Jinki and I would make beautiful babies.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s normal-shaped enough to balance you out.”

Kibum made a deeply offended face, but Taemin could see the tendrils of a smile on his lips. “You’re lucky I like you as much as I do, kiddo.”

“I’m not that much younger than you, Kibum.”

Taemin barely ducked in time to avoid Kibum’s attempt to ruffle his hair. “Did you get any sleep?”

“I slept on the flight here. What about you?”

“Nope. I’ve been on big-brother duty since Kate’s first contraction, thirty-some hours ago. You’d think it was Jason’s first, the way he was carrying on.”

“You loved it. You love being the big brother.”

Taemin smiled softly, looking at the bassinettes through the nursery window. “Yeah, I do.”


	4. Drabble 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty TaeKey friendship, with semi-graphic references to Key's "specialty," set near the end of Hope.

“I don’t know what to do,” Key said, walking unannounced into Minho’s apartment, interrupting Taemin and Minho’s conversation. Taemin stared at him, his mouth open mid-word.

“Minho, could you give us a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Taemin waited until Minho disappeared into the back of the apartment. “Okay. What are you talking about?”

“Jinki.”

Taemin felt his stomach sink. “Did you two fight? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, no, we didn’t fight. Everything’s fine. I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. What if he doesn’t… What if I scare him off? What if he doesn’t want me? He probably just wants me because I’m a whore and then he’ll be done with me. I don’t know what to do.”

“You really think that Jinki wants you because you were a whore? You did that job just as long as I did and you never learned to read people any better than that?”

“No, it’s just that--”

“Do you think he’s going to start hurting you, too? One day he’s going to roll over and say, ‘Huh, this nice guy thing I’ve been doing  _my entire life_  isn’t really doing it for me. I’m going to start--’”

Key threw his hands up. “Okay! Okay, I get it. Geez.”

Taemin put his hands on Key’s shoulders. “I get it, Key, I really do, but Jinki’s not going to hurt you. Not on purpose.”

“How do you know?” Key asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t, really,” Taemin said with a shrug, “but if you’d ended up with someone I thought could hurt you, I’d never let it happen, all right? Jinki will be good for you. He’s the kind of person you need. He’ll take care of you until you heal more.”

“I’m healed fine.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” Key sighed. “I keep acting like I know what I’m doing, but what happens when he wants sex? Taemin, I don’t think I can.”

Taemin was silent, looking Key in the eyes. He knew that despite everything, Key had it so much worse, at least when it came to the job. Makoto had rules, and anyone who hadn’t followed them had been reprimanded, often in a fairly lasting way, but the rules themselves had made Taemin sick.

_Rule 1: Bruises cannot be made above the collar of the shirt._

_Rule 2: Scars can be left only on chest and back. Stomach is expressly forbidden._

_Rule 3: If the injuries sustained are severe enough to put the prostitute out of work for more than two weeks, additional charges will be applied._

_Rule 4: If the injuries prove to be fatal, the customer will be required to pay full value of the prostitute’s life, as judged by owner and based on price per visit and age._

_Rule 5: Major bones will not be broken._

_Rule 6: There will be no branding, although burning can be acceptable, but must be negotiated in advance._

_Rule 7: Any further services are based on prostitute’s personal specialties and must be chosen prior to the appointment._

_Rule 8: Any action made by the customer to purposely kill or severely maim the prostitute will be dealt with severely._

There was one rule for the prostitutes.

_Rule 1: It is not your body._

He’d left plenty of space for other rules, but had never needed to fill them in.

Taemin pulled Key in for a tight hug. Key had always been the stronger one, the one who had managed to keep them both alive, but now that they were safe, Taemin could see that crumbling.

“I don’t know what to do, Taeminnie.”

“I’m sorry.” Taemin rubbed soothing circles into Key’s back until his grip on Taemin’s shirt eased and he pulled away, wiping at his eyes. Taemin couldn’t tell if he’d actually cried, but this was the closest he’d seen him come in all the years he’d known him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t even try to be in a relationship,” Key said. “I don’t even know what one  _is_  and how am I supposed to be in one if I’m so royally fucked up?”

“You’re not fucked up,” Taemin said. “You’re  _not_. If you feel like you can’t be in a relationship, then don’t be in one. If you’re turning him down because you’re afraid of what could happen, don’t be an idiot. I don’t think you could find anyone better for you than Jinki. You’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay,” Key said. He gave Taemin a weak smile and squeezed his shoulder. “When did you get so smart, kid?”

“I had a good person making sure I grew up right.”


	5. Drabble 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Key-centric angst. The story of how he ended up working with Makoto. This is probably more violent and darker than anything I've written for this verse yet. Prostitution, essentially rape, bloodplay, character death. I am going to the special hell.

Kibum may have been only eleven, but he considered himself pretty smart. He knew he was smarter than a lot of boys his age, at least when it came to real life. He’d been to school when he was younger and decided it was more or less a waste of time. He knew he was already smarter than most adults, but it didn’t mean that he knew what was going on when his mother came up behind them in the living room of the hovel they called their house and started petting the back of his neck, the way she always did when he was upset.

“Hey, Kibummie.”

“Yeah, mom?”

“I need to take you somewhere, okay, baby? There’s a friend I want you to meet.”

Kibum knew something was wrong, but he went along without asking questions. His mom wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, even if the friend looked skeazy and he was eyeing Kibum in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Regardless, he refused to back down, meeting the man’s every look with a dark stare. He didn’t realized then that he’d sealed his own fate, and that years later he would have wished he’d hidden, gone to his mother for comfort like he’d wanted to. After a few minutes, the man nodded.

“He’s defiant and looks strong. Very well.”

A large package was handed over to his mom and she crouched down beside him, taking his hand in her free one. “Baby, I’m gonna come back for you, okay? Stay here for a little while, and I’ll be back.”

“Okay, mama.”

She looked up at Makoto, the man Kibum would learn very quickly to address only as ‘sir.’ “When I get the money, I’ll be back for him. He’s coming home with me when I get the money.”

“Of course.”

She hugged Kibum so tightly he should have known something wasn’t right, but he just returned the hug, burying his face against her and inhaling deeply. Something in him told him to memorize this moment, memorize her, because everything was about to change. She was crying when she left, hugging the package to her chest, and Kibum watched her go, bewildered.

He waited a year, then two, then six. Makoto used him more or less as a servant during those years, making him bring food and clothes to his favorites, having him lead the customers to their chosen prostitutes. Somewhere during the six years, Kibum became Key and he gradually began to understand what was going to be expected of him. He’d seen enough boys and girls like him end up whoring to know that he was not going to be any different.

He still believed that his mother had always intended on coming back for him, but that she couldn’t. He would never know one way or the other, so he made it up. Ideally, he decided, she got arrested. She was safe and off the streets, but she couldn’t get to him.

It was on his seventeenth birthday that he was summoned, because Makoto had a god complex if he’d ever seen one, and finally told what he would be doing. Key had never liked when he had to lead men to the “special” ones, the prostitutes that specialized in pain. He’d liked even less when he’d had to wait to bring the men back out. There had almost always been screaming and sobbing and Key hated it. He’d even been a little afraid of the men themselves, even though they had no more choice in the matter than he would, a few years down the line.

He was terrified that first night. Makoto had marketed him as a virgin, which he supposed he was, at least in body. There was always intense competition for virgins and, Key learned later, especially ones like him. The men were all violent and brutal, and most of them believed there was some kind of glory to be the first one to mark a virgin’s skin.

A more experienced man led him to his room that first night. Key had seen him a handful of times, even brought men to his door, but they’d never spoken. Finally, he turned to Key and put his hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve prepared yourself?”

Key nodded. He’d learned that part early on.

“All you need to do is remember three things. First: Relax. No matter how much it hurts, just relax. Second: The pain is only temporary. It passes, even if it feels like it won’t. Third, no matter what they make you do, what they do to you, you don’t get a say in it. Makoto explained the rules?”

Key nodded again. His stomach was starting to clench in fear.

“The only rule that matters to you right now is our rule. You’ve officially lost any right to your own body.”

Key had seen a lot of things in his life and in many ways he was quite a lot older than seventeen. At the same time, he was still just a boy and as he looked up at Yunho, he wanted to cry.

He didn’t.

“Remember this, little one,” Yunho said, tapping Key’s chest. “Hate them all you want, but remember that these men only get your body. None of them get any more unless you let them.”

Key nodded hesitantly, letting himself into the bedroom. The man wasn’t there yet, giving Key plenty of time to get absolutely terrified. He paced around the room, eyeing the objects lined up so carefully along the walls. There were ropes and whips and knives and other things he couldn’t identify, even if he would become intimately familiar with many of them in the future.

He heard footsteps and spun to face the door. He was shaking, completely unprepared for what was coming. The door opened and a man came in. He took one look at Key and the smile on his face did nothing to soothe any of Key’s fears. He ordered Key to strip and get on the bed in a brusque voice, and Key did it without hesitation.

The man bound him to the bed, ignoring the restraints and using rope that bit into Key’s wrists and ankles, burning every time he shifted. Key was so, so scared.

The man, if he could even be called that, started off by hitting Key, punching him wherever he saw fit. Key couldn’t even move out of the way. He honestly failed to see where any pleasure came out of this, but he focused instead on keeping the tears that were building in the corners of his eyes from spilling down his cheeks.

Next came the knife. He apparently knew what he was doing, skating the very edge down Key’s stomach and  thighs, digging the tip in at random points, making Key’s body jerk and creating little dips of red blood connected by pink lines.

Aside from little huffs of breath and occasional whimpers of pain and fear, Key had managed to stay mostly silent until suddenly the knife was cutting a deep arc across his chest. It ran from the middle of his side, up to almost his nipple, and then back down along his ribs.  
  
Key screamed, his body twisting to try to get away from the pain, but the man was straddling his hips, pinning him in place. That must have been what he needed, because then he was shoving Key’s legs further apart and pushing in with nothing more than Key’s blood to ease the way.

He screamed again, body tensing. He remembered Yunho’s advice and tried to relax, but it was almost impossible between the feeling of the man and the trail of blood down his side, staining the blankets of the med. The man’s hand came up and ran through the blood, smearing it all over Key’s side and across his chest. Pulling at the restraints did nothing but make him hurt worse, the rough rope just rubbing Key’s wrists raw. He finally managed to relax enough to ease some of the pain to a sharp ache in his back.

Key wished, prayed, that it would be quick, that the man would have gotten most of his pleasure from the ropes and the blood. It wasn’t so. Key had been around long enough to know that this lasted longer than most appointments, until his body was shaking with the pain and with the effort of ignoring the occasional bursts of pleasure when the man accidentally brushed Key’s prostate. That was rare, and always faded away beneath the burning in Key’s side.

When it was finally over, the man tossing the used condom on the bed at Key’s side, he dressed and left him there, bleeding and tied to the bed. Yunho came in a few moments later and untied him, helping him into a robe. Walking was already more or less out of the question and Yunho lifted Key, carrying him back to his room. One of the younger girls was waiting when they arrived. She cleaned the wound on his side and bandaged it while Yunho sat at his side, stroking his hair through the pain.

“It’s okay if you want to cry, you know.”

Key shook his head. “I won’t cry. I’m never going to cry for what they do to me. If I’m going to cry, it’s going to be for people who deserve it.”

Yunho gave him a sad smile. “I have to go now. Makoto will give you time to heal before you get another appointment. Keep that clean.”

The next time Key heard anything about Yunho, it was word that he’d died. The “official” rumors said overdose, but everyone talked about the money exchanging hands. Makoto was furious, and the man was forbidden from every having one of his prostitutes again. Key cried that night. He wouldn’t cry again until the day he cried for Taemin.


	6. Drabble 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MinKey friendship, set during Hope. It's a little more angsty than fluffy, but I tried my best.

Minho let himself out of his bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him. Taemin was sleeping fitfully, but at least he was sleeping. He still had trouble sleeping without Minho, but it was getting better.

“How’s he doing?” Key asked. He was sitting on the chair he’d staked out as his own, legs curled beneath him, a book balanced on the arm of the chair. He’d never shown much interest in reading, but the longer he was at Minho’s apartment, the more he read. Minho supposed he was bored out of his mind.

“Sleeping, I think,” Minho said. He sat on the couch across from Key, letting his head fall back. He was tired, but he had a lot of work to do before he could finally go to sleep. With a groan, he reached for his laptop and lifted the screen.

“Minho?”

“Hm?”

When Key didn’t say anything right away, he looked up to find Key watching him with a pensive expression on his face.

“You’re exhausted.”

Minho shrugged. “This is just a busy time for me.”

“We’re not making things any easier for you.”

“You’re not making things any harder either.”

Key scoffed, closing the book and sitting forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Don’t lie. I may be hurt, but I’m not stupid. I’ve seen how hard you’re working to keep Taemin busy, and I don’t know if it’s because you want to make sure he doesn’t get bored or relapse or what, but you’re with him constantly when you’re here.”

“The apartment’s not that big.”

Key just rolled his eyes, giving Minho a look he was becoming very familiar with and had personally begun calling ‘don’t be a fucking idiot,’ not that he’d ever tell Key that. He’d probably love it. And then patent it.

“I don’t even think he knows what you’re doing, but thank you. He needs someone to care about him.”

“He has you.”

“Yeah, and I love him, but he doesn’t need a brother now, does he?” Key shrugged. “Either way, thank you. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

“How are  _you_  doing?” Minho asked, a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was headed. It was getting frighteningly close to those conversations you had with parents where they subtly hinted to you that it would be okay if you wanted to ‘become a member of the family.’

Key’s smile was bitter. “I’m doing okay. Most of the pain is gone now, unless I decide to move.”

“I’m sorry.”

As if proving his point, Key grimaced in pain when he shrugged. “I won’t say I’ve had worse, because it’s probably not true. I know how to handle it better than I did when I was a kid.”

“I can afford to bring you to the doctor,” Minho said. They’d had this conversation a time or two already and Key had unequivocally refused any aid. This time, however, he paused for just a second.

“No, I’m okay.”

“There’s the chance that--”

“If I don’t start getting better soon, I’ll think about it.”

“Wait, really?”

Key gave him a slow smile, the kind that Minho had only seen once or twice before and always made him wonder how someone with the kind of past Key had was capable of still smiling like that. “Yes, really.”

Minho was about to say something more, but Key stood up, moving slowly and stiffly, pausing and resting his hands on his knees before he pushed himself the rest of the way to his feet. He made it a step and wavered, catching himself against the wall. Minho was up, slinging an arm around his waist before he could recover. Key’s hand clenched in the collar of Minho’s shirt and he could hear him drawing in ragged breaths.

“Key, please. I have a friend. He could look at you; it wouldn’t have to be official. No records. I just want to know you’re going to be okay.”

For a few seconds, there was no response. Then he felt Key straighten and nod once. “Fine, but I’m not answering any questions I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to. He’ll be discrete if I tell him it’s important.”

Key nodded again. “I just want to sleep for a little while.”

Minho tightened his arm around Key’s waist, trying to pretend he didn’t see the little grimace, and helped him the few feet down the hall to the bedroom. They made it through the bedroom door and Minho released Key, letting him lean heavily against the wall.

“Are you okay?” Minho asked. “I mean, to-to change and everything?”

Key laughed, but it was quiet and bitter again. “Yes, I’m okay for that. If you hear a thud, you may want to come running.”

“I’ll do that.”

Key caught Minho’s wrist as he turned to leave. “I’m serious though. About Taemin. Thank you. I couldn’t hope for him to find anyone better.”

Minho gave him a tight smile and closed the door behind him. He looked for a moment at his computer, whirring quietly in the living room, and turned to his bedroom.


	7. Drabble 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy OnKey. Kibum comes home with a cold.

Jinki closed his laptop with a snap and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was not quite halfway through midterm papers and he was getting really,  _really_  sick of having to explain simple concepts in the margins. The door to the apartment opened and Jinki considered opening his eyes, but decided against it, until he heard someone sniffle.

“Bummie? What’s wrong?”

Kibum stepped around the wall blocking their entrance from view. He had a scarf wrapped snugly around his throat and his jacket buttoned all the way up. It was nowhere near cold enough outside for all that.

“Kibum?”

Kibum waved him off, undoing the buttons with shaking hands. Jinki ignored him, making quick work of the buttons and then unwinding his scarf. He eased Kibum out of the jacket and enveloped him in his arms.

“I don’t feel good,” Kibum mumbled, hands coming up to grab onto the back of Jinki’s shirt. Jinki kissed his cheek, rocking him gently back and forth in the entryway. “I’m so cold.”

“Come here.”

Jinki led him to the couch and settled him on it. When Kibum was comfortably curled up, his knees pulled nearly to his chest, he moved to their bedroom and pulled the comforter off the bed. He tucked it around Kibum’s body and sat back at his side, holding his arm out for Kibum to press against him.

He did, letting himself sink into Jinki’s embrace and his eyes close.

“I don’t like being sick,” he said, voice muffled by the blanket he’d pulled up over his nose.

“I know you don’t.”

Kibum started to say something, but his words were interrupted by a bout of fierce coughs that made him almost convulse with the force of them. Jinki rubbed his back soothingly until the coughing subsided and Kibum flopped back where he was before, making a miserable moaning sound.

“Aww, baby,” Jinki cooed, kissing the top of his head. “My poor Bummie.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Jinki laughed softly. “I’m not making fun of you. You sound miserable.”

“Good, ‘cause otherwise I’d have to sneeze on you and then you’d be sick.”

It would have sounded a lot more threatening if Kibum hadn’t sounded like his nose was so stuffed he could hardly breathe. “Do you want anything, love? Something to drink or eat?”

Kibum shook his head, almost pushing Jinki over in his attempt to get closer. “Stay here.”

He nodded, kissing Kibum’s hair again. “Let me know if you want anything?”

“Love you, Jinki.”

“I love you too. Take a nap, okay? I’ll get you something to eat then, and then you can get some real sleep.”

His boyfriend made a soft sound of agreement, already sounding more asleep than awake. Jinki smiled down at him again, pulling him a little closer and resting his head on Kibum’s. The papers could wait.

He woke up a few hours later, Kibum still tight in his arms. He was awake, looking up at Jinki with a faint smile. Kibum reached up and tapped his lips.

“You feeling any better?” Jinki asked.

Kibum shook his head. If anything, despite the smile, he looked worse. His nose was red and he looked pale. “I don’t like being sick,” he repeated.

“I know. I’ll email my students once you go to bed and tell them class is cancelled tomorrow, and then I can stay with you. Hungry?”

“A little.”

Jinki squeezed him a little and then stood, helping Kibum to lay out on the couch. “I’ll make you some soup.”

“Not hungry if it means you have to get up.”

He leaned down and kissed Kibum’s forehead. He pulled away quickly, pressing the back of his hand to Kibum’s forehead. “You’re hot.”

“I--” Kibum coughed again, his cheeks tingeing pink as he fought for air. “I know I am.”

“Oh, baby,” Jinki murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

He headed into the bathroom and flicked the faucet on, running cool water onto a cloth. He knelt at Kibum’s side and draped the cloth across his forehead. Kibum shivered, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

“Keep that on there.”

Jinki stood and went back to the bathroom, snagging the container of Tylenol and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge as he walked past.

“Sit up, Bummie.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“I know. Just sit up for a few seconds and then I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

Kibum heaved himself up, the washcloth tipped off his forehead and rolled to the blankets, but he ignored it, except to swipe his hand across the dampness. Jinki helped him to take two Tylenol and then forced him up onto his feet. He made a soft whining noise in protest.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

Kibum kept the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It trailed behind him like a child’s make-shift superhero cape. Jinki wanted to laugh, but he looked so miserable that he settled for kissing his temple and helping him into bed.

Jinki put the cloth back on his forehead. “I’m going to email my students and then come to bed with you. Will you be okay?”

Kibum nodded faintly, already almost asleep again.

It took Kibum two days to get better, at which point Jinki’s head was throbbing, his skin felt too tight, and he couldn’t stop coughing. Kibum gave him a sad smile and got him a cool washcloth for his head.


	8. Drabble 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OnKey first time smut.

Seven months. Kibum just happened to glance at the calendar one day as he was passing by. Seven months. He and Taemin had been free just over that, but he’d been dating Jinki for seven months. He felt like he should do something for Jinki, but he still didn’t have a job. For some odd reason, nobody was too keen on hiring someone with absolutely no job history that he was willing to report, no references, and no education. He didn’t even have an official medical history. It left money a little tight between the two of them.

“What’re you staring at the calendar for?” Jinki asked, stepping into the kitchen. It was Saturday and they had nowhere to be. He stepped up behind Kibum, wrapping his arms around his waist and peering over his shoulder.

Kibum pointed. “Seven months.”

“I thought you didn’t like anniversaries,” Jinki teased.

“Seven’s a big number,” Kibum said.

“What do you want to do?”

Kibum turned in Jinki’s embrace, draping his arms over his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Stay in. We can just…”

He was still a little embarrassed to ask to just spend time with his own boyfriend, but Jinki understood. He drew Kibum close and kissed him slowly, taking his time to show Kibum exactly how much he loved him, kissing him until his knees felt weak and his breath was coming too quickly.

That was when Kibum had to pull away, hands shaking. Jinki let him go, but kept a hand pressed against the side of Kibum’s face.

“It’s okay, Kibum. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Kibum whispered. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to stop the shaking. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m just…”

“I understand.” Jinki caught Kibum’s wrists and pulled his hands free, interlacing their fingers on both hands.

“Taemin’s moved on,” Kibum said. “He’s okay and I’m still scared--”

Jinki pushed his lips against Kibum’s, shutting him up. “Kibum, listen to me. You’re allowed to be scared. The things that happened to you…” Jinki’s voice caught in his throat. “Come on, let’s watch some TV and we can decide if you want me to take you out for dinner or if we’re going to just cook here.”

Kibum let Jinki lead him to the living room and he curled up against Jinki’s side, resting his head on Jinki’s shoulder. Jinki curled his arm around Kibum and let him think. He was scared, painfully scared of what could happen if he started down this road, but part of him ached to have what Taemin had. What everyone else on the planet had.

“Jinki?”

“Hm?”

“I want to try something.”

That caught Jinki’s attention. He frowned in confusion, obviously trying to figure out what on earth Kibum was talking about. “What?”

Kibum swung his leg over Jinki’s lap, rising up on his knees to straddle him. Jinki’s eyes were comically wide, mouth open in surprise. Kibum kissed him the best way he knew how, deep and intense, tongue tracing Jinki’s teeth and the roof of his mouth, teeth catching his lower lip before they pulled apart.

“Kibum, what are you doing?” Jinki asked.

He didn’t answer, kissing his way across Jinki’s jaw and nipping down to his neck. His boyfriend made a sound in his throat, hand catching the fabric of the couch. Jinki’s breath was shuddering through his body and Kibum couldn’t suppose he blamed him, living celibate for at least the last seven months.

“Kibummie, this isn’t… I mean…”

Kibum pulled back, confused. “Don’t you want this?”

“God, yes, but not if you don’t want it.”

“Let me try,” Kibum whispered, his lips descending back to Jinki’s neck. Despite his history with Makoto, Kibum was actually  _really_  good at this part. When Makoto wasn’t throwing him at his toughest clients, that’s what he was doing.

Jinki didn’t need seduction, his hands catching Kibum’s waist. He stood, setting Kibum on his feet. “If we’re going to do this, Kibum, I want to do it right. We’re not going to do it on the couch.”

They moved together to the bedroom, Jinki nuzzling at Kibum’s throat. He closed the door behind them and paused in the middle of the room, pressing his forehead to Kibum’s. “We’re going to go slow, okay, Bummie? All you’ve got to do is say ‘no’ and we’re done. I won’t force you, I won’t hurt you. I love you so much.”

Kibum slipped his hands beneath Jinki’s shirt, sliding it up his stomach and then over his head. Jinki’s torso was nothing new to Kibum, but he would never tire of it. Jinki, however, had never seen Kibum shirtless, at least not in the light. He didn’t want his scars to disgust him or drive him off. Regardless, Jinki tugged Kibum’s shirt off, his hands taking a firm, but not controlling, grip on his waist.

“Okay?” Jinki asked, his eyes on Kibum’s eyes.

He nodded, swallowing a few times to get moisture back in his throat. “Y-yeah.”

Jinki put his arms around his waist, pulling him in and holding him close. “We’ll wait. Take some time.”

“I’m sorry,” Kibum whispered.

Jinki shushed him, peppering gentle kisses along his neck and leading him to sit on the edge of the bed. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I… Please don’t hurt me,” Kibum said, his voice breaking. “I know you won’t, but… please don’t.”

The kisses stopped and Jinki pulled away. “We can’t do this.”

“No,” Kibum pled, catching Jinki’s arm. “Please, don’t. I  _want_  this.”

“I’m not going to force you to do this. Not if you’re not sure.”

“I  _am_  sure. I want this. I want to…” Kibum had no idea why he was having such a difficult time saying this. “I want to give you this. I love you. I trust you.”

Jinki kissed the bridge of Kibum’s nose. “Are you certain? You have to be positive, Kibum, because you’re finally,  _finally_  getting better and I don’t want to ruin that for you. You’re not having nightmares every night, you’re not flinching when someone comes up behind you. I’m not sending you back to that.”

“I’m positive.”

“I won’t hurt you, my love.”

At that, Kibum kissed Jinki and then lay back on the bed. His boyfriend followed him down, kissing his way down to Kibum’s chest. Kibum watched Jinki’s every movement, his heart pounding in his chest. His body felt tense and the prickles of sweat that broke out across his skin were definitely caused by fear.

Jinki looked up at him and once he got Kibum’s okay, he swiped his tongue across Kibum’s nipple, tracing it with the tip of his tongue. It sent a bolt of comforting warmth through his body. Nobody had ever done that before.

After a little while, Jinki pulled away, running his hands up and down Kibum’s torso. He couldn’t immediately figure out why, but once Jinki’s finger began tracing a familiar semi-circle on his side, he understood.

“Seventeen,” Kibum said. “Seventeen scars on my chest and back. Four more on my stomach.”

“Oh my god,” Jinki breathed, spreading his hands across Kibum’s chest. “Bummie. This is why…”

Kibum nodded, searching Jinki’s face with his eyes, looking for the signs of disgust and hatred that he knew had to be there. Jinki pressed his face to the side of Kibum’s throat.

“I’m sorry,” Kibum whispered.

Jinki sat there for a little while, his fingertips seeking out every single scar on Kibum’s chest and stomach. “I love you,” Jinki said at last, his voice so heavy with pain that Kibum wanted to stop this whole thing and hold him until the hurt went away.

“Then show me,” Kibum said, reaching up to press his palm to Jinki’s cheeks. “It’s okay, Jinki. Show me.”

Jinki leaned down, pressing his lips to Kibum’s. His hands trailed down to the button of Kibum’s jeans. He looked up at Kibum for permission, and Kibum nodded. He freed the button and then unzipped his jeans, keeping his eyes on Kibum’s every time he moved.

Kibum bit down on his lips, reminding himself again and again that Jinki  _was not going to hurt him_. Sensing his completely palpable fear, Jinki leaned down to kiss him again, freeing Kibum’s teeth from his lips before he could hurt himself, and eased Kibum’s pants down over his hips.

“Never gonna hurt you,” Jinki whispered against his lips.

Kibum pressed up against his boyfriend’s lips, seeking another kiss to quell the fear building in his stomach. It was so irrational, he knew it was stupid and irrational, but it didn’t do anything to keep the terror down.

“How do you want to do this, Kibum?” Jinki asked once they separated. “Do you want to…” Jinki, who had just removed his boyfriend’s pants and was currently in the process of coaxing him out of his underwear, blushed while trying to ask Kibum who was going to top. It was enough to send Kibum into a fit of giggles, finally loosening the knot of fear in his chest just a little.

“I’ll be okay,” Kibum said. “You can, if you want.”

“You sure?”

“If you keep asking me if I’m sure, I’m gonna start saying no, just to piss you off,” Kibum retorted, but he was smiling. “Go ahead.”

Jinki managed to pull the last of Kibum’s clothes off him and it was finally that moment. Everything up until then could have been a heated, if oddly disrupted, kissing session. This… this wasn’t that. This was real and sex followed and Kibum felt that knot tightening in his chest again.

“No,” Jinki said, his hand sliding up to ghost across Kibum’s chest. “No, no, no, don’t be scared, Bummie. It’s okay.”

“I know. Just… keep going.”

He could see the conflict on Jinki’s face, but he also could see that Jinki trusted him enough to know that if it became too much, he would tell him. To his credit, he only tripped once while trying to get his own clothes off and then Kibum was entirely too busy being awed by his boyfriend’s body to feel anything but overwhelming love for the next few moments.

Even so, he was surprised to feel desire stirring in his body. He knew he loved Jinki, knew he was attracted to him, but didn’t really think that would manifest in actual want. While he was distracted, Jinki’s hand wrapped around Kibum’s cock, drawing a startled gasp from his lips.

Jinki moved slowly, long, languid strokes that made Kibum’s skin burn with desire he hadn’t felt… ever. Before long, Kibum found himself almost panting, his body arching for more of his boyfriend’s touch. Jinki nuzzled against Kibum’s throat, lips pressing against his pulse point.

“Tell me what you want, Kibum,” Jinki whispered.

“Can we…” Kibum hesitated. “Please, Jinki.”

Jinki’s hand disappeared from Kibum’s body and then before long his finger pressed against Kibum’s entrance, slicked with more lube than he probably needed. He met Kibum’s eyes and then slid his finger in slowly, as though even that much would hurt. Kibum’s eyes closed, breath coming in quick gasps.

Throughout it all, as he gradually added his next two fingers, Jinki never took his eyes off Kibum’s face. He stopped moving entirely every time Kibum’s face twisted with even a breath of pain. That helped soothe the fear in Kibum’s chest further, let him breathe more easily and even begin to ask for more, encouraging Jinki to move a little faster. Finally, Jinki began to pull his fingers from Kibum’s body.

“Are you ready?”

Fighting down a spike of fear, Kibum nodded, swallowing. Jinki kissed him, stroking his cheek with one thumb. He took a few seconds to get himself ready and then he eased himself into position above Kibum. He tensed in fear as soon as he felt Jinki pressing against him. Jinki rubbed his fingers against Kibum’s forehead.

“Never going to hurt you,” Jinki promised again. “Never. I love you, Bummie.”

Kibum took a deep breath and drew on his years of experience to relax his body, bringing his hands up to Jinki’s shoulders. “Y-you can… go… if you want.”

He knew his voice was pitched way too high with fear, but Jinki kissed him again and began to ease inside. Kibum’s fingers clenched on Jinki’s shoulders, his head tipping back, mouth falling open.

“Am I hurting you?” Jinki asked, his eyes narrowed with concern.

“No,” Kibum said. “No, you’re not. It’s— _oh, god_ —never felt this good before.”

“It’s always going to feel this good now.”

“Keep moving,” Kibum said, rocking up to encourage the motion. When Jinki pressed all the way inside, Kibum couldn’t help but cry out his name, back arching to get him just a little deeper.

Jinki moved slowly, letting the heat build between their bodies, taking his time to find every place on Kibum’s body that made him cry out and shake. He was the perfect lover, Kibum discovered, attentive and even the sounds he made were perfect.

It was so different from anything he’d ever experienced before. Even the ones who hadn’t been violent hadn’t spent so much time ensuring that their prostitute felt any pleasure, leaving Kibum completely unprepared for the way it washed through his body, the orgasm rising like a wave.

“Jinki,” Kibum gasped, a moan breaking through his words. Jinki’s hand was firm on him, stroking him through the crest until Kibum was coming, voice cracking as he repeated Jinki’s name. Jinki gasped, the most beautiful expression flashing across his face as he followed a few seconds later, supporting himself on his hands resting on the bed beside Kibum’s shoulders.

He leaned down to press his lips to Kibum’s, withdrawing carefully, and lying down at his side. Kibum rolled against him, burying his face in Jinki’s shoulder. He was still breathing heavily, cool chills running across his skin as the sweat began to dry. Jinki ran his fingers down Kibum’s side.

“Are you okay?”

Kibum smiled, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Jinki’s shoulder and tasting the sweat there. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… good.”

Jinki wiped his hands on the corner of a blanket and then used it to clean off both their chests and stomachs. He tossed the blanket aside and wrapped his arms around Kibum, pulling him in close. He kissed Kibum’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Kibum hummed his agreement, eyes drifting closed. He found Jinki’s hand and, twisting their legs together, pulled Jinki’s hand up to his lips. “Happy anniversary, Jinki.”


	9. Drabble 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2Min argument/make-up sex. Reading Hope/Lost isn't really necessary, but it helps with understanding the bits about heroin and Minho's job.

Taemin had a temper. Minho was no stranger to it, really. He’d seen the worst of it during his withdrawals, but for the most part, Taemin was pretty good at keeping it under control even through the worst of their arguments, of which they had their fair share. Really, they didn’t fight much, compared to some people they knew, but when they did, the arguments could get intense. Jonghyun told them he was astonished they were still together with the way they fought.

They’d stumbled on one of the subjects that led to the worst of their arguments. Taemin had been quiet for the last few days, reticent and evasive whenever Minho tried to find out what was wrong. It reached a point where, finally, Taemin had had enough and informed Minho in no uncertain terms to “back the fuck off.”

Minho would have been willing to let it go, but Taemin had started rubbing absently at the inside of his arm, over the scars that still marred his otherwise perfect skin, and Minho was not going to have that.  It had led to one of their fights that lasted most of the day, through work, and afterwards, with lulls that almost convinced Minho it was over, until one of them would say something wrong and the fight would start off exactly where it had left off.

This time all it had taken was one long look from Minho, eyeing the inside of Taemin’s arm, to set him off again. It was this way whenever Taemin craved heroin again, when his hands shook. Minho got scared. So did Taemin. But Taemin’s response to fear, especially about this, wasn’t to look for comfort. It was anger. Minho understood; he did. But the knowledge didn’t make it any easier when Taemin spat words at him, sharp as ever.

“What the hell do you want?” Taemin demanded, pulling at the short sleeve of his shirt as though he could make it long enough to cover his elbow.

Minho rubbed at his eyes. He’d been hoping it would be over by the time he made it back home. He was exhausted, but apparently that wasn’t enough to stop this fight. “I’m just worried about you, Taemin.”

“You’re waiting for me to fuck up, you mean.”

Minho shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up in the closet. “I am not waiting for you to fuck up.”

“Then why do you keep looking?”

“Because I’m  _worried_ ,” Minho repeated, trying to keep his voice patient.

“Worried you’ll lose your whore?” Taemin demanded, pushing for more of a reaction out of him. “Don’t know what you’ll do without your on-call prostitute?”

Minho had been in the process of starting water boiling for their supper, but at those words he spun around. “Taemin,  _stop_. That isn’t true and you know it.”

“You can finally fuck your stars then. It’s good publicity, you know.”

That one made Minho flinch. He’d said it once, talking about one of the other directors in the industry. He’d been caught having an affair with one of his actresses and, once the initial shit-storm was over, the film, actress, and director had gone on to win awards. Lots of awards.

“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.” The water was boiling behind him and he turned to dump a handful of green beans into it, turning the temperature down. “What more do you want from me? A signed affidavit that you are the only person I have slept with in three years? The only person I’ve  _wanted_  to sleep with?”

That didn’t even make Taemin pause.

“Fuck you.”

Minho groaned. “Okay, fine. What the hell do you want me to do?”

“Stop being so high and mighty. I know people. I know sex. I know how it works. You haven’t thought about it? Even once with anyone? Jonghyun?”

“ _What_  is your obsession with Jonghyun?”

“You did fuck him.”

“Once, Taemin. Once! Before we were anything.”

Taemin stomped away. Minho flicked the stove off and moved the pot aside a little too violently. The water spilled over, hissing on the burner and splashing onto the back of Minho’s hand. He swore and jerked away, bumping the pot again and sending it crashing to the floor.

He moved back quickly enough to avoid getting further burnt, but half of their dinner was spread out across the floor. He considered cleaning it up, but decided it wasn’t worth it. The mess would be there when he felt like getting back to it.

Taemin was hovering in the hallway when Minho stepped out. He bypassed his boyfriend, ignoring his hesitantly outstretched hand and walked into their bedroom, shutting the door firmly—just short of slamming it.

A few minutes later, the door opened. Minho pretended to be asleep—the adult way to deal with the situation. He felt the bed dip and then something cool was pressing to the burn on the back of Minho’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Taemin said, lifting Minho’s hand and pressing his lips to the burn. He put Minho’s hand in his lap and replaced the cloth. “I shouldn’t… be like this. Not to you.”

Minho rolled over, holding his arm out for Taemin. The younger man set the cloth aside and curled up beside him, face hidden in Minho’s chest.

“I’m sorry too, baby. It’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” Taemin confessed in a whisper, as though anything louder would make the fear come true. “I don’t like being scared. It makes me feel out of control, just like the heroin used to.”

“I know, baby.”

“Are you okay?” Taemin asked, fingers barely touching the wrist on the hand that had been burnt.

“Yeah, it was just a splash.”

Taemin wriggled closer until his face was even with Minho’s and the older man had to bite back a groan. Now was not the time to get distracted by Taemin’s body. Apparently Taemin had other ideas.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Before Minho could hope to respond, Taemin’s lips were on his, lean body stretched lengthwise against Minho. His kiss was alluring, demanding, coaxing Minho to respond and then drawing back, teasing him with slides of his hips and presses of his hand. Every time Minho tried to deepen the kiss, to get a little closer, Taemin pulled back. It left him entirely at Taemin’s mercy and that was exactly how Taemin liked it. Even though Minho would lie under oath about it, he liked it too, the way Taemin could give or take and Minho would never know which was coming until it happened.

“It’s okay, Taemin,” Minho protested weakly. “Couples fight.”

Taemin’s lips were ghosting along Minho’s jaw, warm breath making Minho breathless himself. “And couples make up.”

Minho ran his hands down Taemin’s arms, feeling him shiver. Taemin’s eyes closed and it still fascinated Minho how simple touches could make such an impression on him. Taemin had always loved the soft caresses, a gentle brush of fingertips across his cheeks, a careful kiss to his forehead. Minho understood where it came from, but even that didn’t diminish the quiet joy he felt when Taemin leaned into a comforting touch.

Taemin eased one arm free and trailed it down Minho’s body, fingers tripping against his belt buckle and then working the leather free of its bindings. Taemin never had any sense of the order in which these things were to go-or Minho supposed he didn’t really care. He usually had enough time to redirect the younger man, but today Taemin plunged his hand straight into Minho’s underwear, wrapping his admittedly talented hand around Minho’s cock. He kept his hand still, aside from fingertips teasing the head and the vein beneath, drawing a low moan from Minho’s lips.

“Oh. Oh  _god_. Taemin.”

Taemin tilted his head down and caught Minho’s lips. Minho usually controlled himself better, but he kissed Taemin back hard, tongue sliding between Taemin’s lips to taste the warm silkiness of his mouth. He felt Taemin’s lips move against his, drawing him deeper into the kiss, fuzzing his vision and making him short of breath.

He released Minho, hands sliding beneath Minho’s shirt, pushing it up until Minho had no choice but to pull it off. Taemin devoured the offering, lips and mouth, tongue and teeth pressing and nipping. He wrapped his arms around Taemin, pulling their bodies flush.

“Why are your clothes still on?” Minho growled playfully, nuzzling against the side of Taemin’s throat.

Taemin rolled over, tugging Minho with him. “Why haven’t you taken them off me yet?”

Minho laughed, leaning down to kiss him again. He worked his hands beneath Taemin’s shirt, taking his time to let his fingers trace bands of muscle and bone, while their lips moved together. Taemin whined at the touches and Minho had to smile. That was how he always knew when he was getting to the other man, when Taemin’s pleased sounds became whines and whimpers.

With one arm, he lifted Taemin slightly off the bed, just enough to ease the shirt from Taemin’s body. He lowered his lips to the hollow of Taemin’s neck, just to taste the sweat forming there.

“My beautiful, precious, beautiful Taemin.”

“You said ‘beautiful’ twice.”

“My beautiful, precious, brat Taemin,” Minho corrected himself, laughing against his skin.

Taemin hit him playfully in the shoulder, head rolling back to give Taemin more skin, of which Minho took complete advantage, peppering little bites and soft kisses along his throat until Taemin was rolling his hips against Minho’s, panting desperately for more. Minho liked to hear him beg, not because it made him feel in control or powerful, but because it meant he was pleasing Taemin, that he remembered this—sex, making love, whatever it was called—could be beautiful and good for both of them.

“I love you so much,” Minho whispered, lips against Taemin’s hair. “I am so proud of you—of everything you’ve done.”

Taemin’s eyes closed, the way they always did when Minho was talking about his past, but there was a faint smile on his lips. When his eyes opened, he said only, “I love you.”

Minho was such a sucker for those words. Taemin knew it. Minho popped the button on Taemin’s jeans, kissing down his boyfriend’s chest and stomach, sucking at the skin below his navel. Taemin wrapped his hands in Minho’s hair as Minho let his teeth drag across the skin there, just to feel Taemin’s muscles tense beneath his lips.

“You’re a tease,” Taemin whined, fingers tightening in Minho’s hair just enough to draw a sound from him.

“Yeah, and you love it,” Minho countered, lifting a hand from the bed and pressing it against the growing bulge in Taemin’s pants. Taemin pushed against him, clearly wanting more.

In a quick motion that made Taemin yelp, Minho stripped the younger man’s pants and boxers off. He worked his way out of his own as Taemin reached into the dresser to pull out the lube.

Minho was leaning down to kiss Taemin when he felt Taemin shift from beneath him, catching Minho’s wrist and sending him tumbling to the mattress. Taemin urged him onto his back and then pinned Minho’s wrists to the bed, grinning down at him.

“I thought  _you_  were apologizing,” Minho said, pulling slightly against the grip to see exactly how serious Taemin was about this.

Taemin leaned down, lips finding the place on Minho’s throat that made him shiver, the one place that made him forget what he was trying to do. “But Minho… shouldn’t I apologize a little more? Just to make sure you know how really sorry I am?” His voice had dropped a little deeper, huskier, and Minho never stood a chance. “You’ll like it.”

Hands ran down Minho’s body, Taemin kissing at the junction of Minho’s leg to his body. Minho moaned, the sound slipping out before he could bite it back. Taemin slipped a slick finger inside him, making Minho rock down against him.

“Oh, baby. It’s been way too long--”

“I told you you’d like it,” Taemin whispered, breath gusting across Minho’s chest. “You know I’m good.”

Taemin was good, making Minho clasp onto his shoulders, eyes closing and breath rasping through his lips.

“You want something, Minho?” Taemin asked, pulling his fingers free and reaching for the lube again to finish getting himself ready.

“And you call me a tease,” Minho grumbled, but he grabbed Taemin’s hips, probably harder than he should have, urging him into position.

Fortunately, Taemin didn’t waste any time and nudged Minho’s legs a little further apart. He began to press in and Minho’s breath hitched. It had been a while since they’d done this and his body was unused to the stretch, even if Taemin had taken his time making sure Minho was fully prepared. The younger man rubbed a hand soothingly along Minho’s lower abdomen, silently encouraging him to ease. He did the best he could, remembering how good it felt, once Taemin was fully inside him. It took him a bit, but then he felt Taemin’s sharp hips resting against him and realized that Taemin was breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut as he fought to stay still. Experimentally, Minho tensed around Taemin and he moaned, head dropping and fingers twisting in the blankets.

“Please—oh, god—please tell me you’ll be ready soon.” Taemin’s voice was hoarse, just the way Minho liked it.

Minho reached up and put his hand on the back of Taemin’s neck, drawing his head down for a kiss. Taemin eased down onto his elbows, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. His hips shifted slightly, drawing a moan from Minho’s lips, his head tilting back, breaking their kiss.

Taemin smiled, running his fingers through Minho’s hair, and drew out a little before pushing back in. Minho’s breath caught in his chest and he wrapped the fingers of one hand around Taemin’s bicep. Before long, Taemin had found a steady rhythm; long, smooth pulls out and sharp thrusts in that made Minho’s head spin.

In reality, Minho couldn’t do anything but let out choked sounds and pray that Taemin would never, ever, ever stop. It was too good, the way Taemin filled him, the feeling of Taemin inside him, as close as it was physically possible for them to be. He’d needed this, the connection between their bodies as Taemin began to move faster, finding that spot that made lights flash behind Minho’s eyes, made him swear.

He was distracted, eyes closed, not entirely certain he’d be able to see anything even if they were open, and didn’t notice Taemin’s hand trailing down his body until a hand wrapped around his cock, thumb circling the head, and Minho’s eyes snapped open, body shaking as he fought the urge to come right then.

“Oh god. Taemin. My Taemin. I love you so much. Don’t stop, baby, please.”

Taemin gave a breathy chuckle, hot air gusting over Minho’s throat. “I love when you get like this. I love when you need. I love when you— _ah_ —when you lose control.”

His voice was low, deep and rasping and Minho could barely take it. He grabbed Taemin’s hips, urging him for more, for harder, for deeper, for anything and everything Taemin could give him to continue the build-up of heat low in Minho’s stomach. Taemin knew, of course he did, and obliged, pushing in deeper, low moans coming from his lips as he began to lose rhythm, hand going slack on Minho’s dick. Taemin whined, moving faster until he cried out Minho’s name and Minho felt his come, hot and deep inside him.

Taemin rested for a few seconds, breath shaky, before he pulled out, leaning down to kiss him. Minho expected him to stop there, to reach down and finish jerking Minho off, because he was still so hard he couldn’t think clearly. Somehow, Taemin’s lips were on Minho’s stomach, kissing lower and Minho started back to consciousness, catching Taemin’s chin and making him look back up.

“Baby, you don’t have to do this. I know you don’t like it.” Not that the thought of having Taemin’s mouth around him wasn’t one of the hottest things he could imagine, but it brought Taemin back to times better left forgotten.

“I want to,” Taemin said. His voice was strong, even if there was the tiniest flicker of doubt in his eyes. He pressed his fingertips into Minho’s inner thigh. “Just… just warn me before you come, okay?”

He waited long enough for Minho to nod and then Taemin’s mouth was on him, hot and wet and all suction. His tongue pressed against the underside of Minho’s cock, tip flicking and practically blinding Minho with pleasure. He took a breath, Minho could feel the gust over his skin, and then he took Minho in deeper, swallowing with the kind of skill that sent spikes of pure electricity through Minho’s body.

Minho only had time to catch Taemin’s shoulder in warning, but he understood, pulling back and replacing his mouth with his hand, stroking Minho until he came, making a sound that was meant to be Taemin’s name, but definitely sounded nowhere near it. All he could hear for a few seconds was a roaring in his ears, his heartbeat pounding.

By the time he was anywhere near coherent, Taemin had cleaned them both off, tossing the washcloth aside and curling up beside him, tugging forgotten blankets over them both. He let Minho wrap him in his arms, pull him in close, and tangle their legs together.

Taemin laughed softly, head resting on Minho’s chest. “Your heart is beating really fast.”

“Proud of your work, are you?”

“Proud of anything that can make you feel that good, yeah.”

Minho smiled, fluffing Taemin’s hair, just because he could. “I love you.”

There was a moment of silence, in which he felt Taemin fidgeting uncomfortably. “I… Minho, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, it’s fine,” Minho said, trying to lift Taemin’s chin with his fingertips. He refused, tucking his head further down. “I get it. I do.”

“But you… You got hurt.”

“Because of my temper. Not yours.” Minho groaned, remembering. “I need to clean that up, don’t I?”

Taemin shook his head, finally looking up at him. “I cleaned it up before I came in here. I’m really sorry.”

“I think you made that abundantly clear,” Minho said, taking the opportunity to kiss him on the bridge of his nose. “Tell me that you love me and I’ll forgive you.”

Taemin wrinkled his nose. “I love you.”

“Good. Now, we still have to make dinner.”

“I don’t want to get up yet,” Taemin said.

Minho made a valiant effort at getting up. Really, he did. But somehow between the dull ache in his back and Taemin doing his best to pin him to the bed, he ended up lying back down, letting Taemin kiss him senseless.

Dinner could wait.


	10. Drabble 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Drug use, Prostitution, specifically underage prostitution, Violence

Taemin had known this was coming from the moment Makoto assigned Key to watch him two months earlier, but he was sixteen, only days from seventeen. He hardly gave a damn about anything, much less anything Makoto told him to do.

He’d known his continued absence from appointments was going to get him trouble, probably lead to a visit from one of Makoto’s lackeys, but he really hadn’t expected three of them, one grabbing him by the back of the neck and pulling him from the apartment. He hadn’t expected Key to get thrown in the car with him, hard enough to make his head snap against the window.

He didn’t bother to ask questions; they wouldn’t have been answered. If anything, he probably would have gotten hit for even breathing too loudly. As much as Taemin talked about not giving a damn about Makoto, he did have a keen interest in saving his own skin. Eventually, they stopped at one of Makoto’s compounds, one Taemin hadn’t been to before. The lackey dragged him inside, hand fisted in Taemin’s hair. Another one of the men dragged Key by the arm, jerking him along as though he weighed almost nothing.

Makoto was standing in the middle of a room when they walked in, hands folded behind his back. He looked Taemin over, essentially ignoring Key. That was when Taemin began to realize exactly how much trouble he was in, throat and mouth going dry, legs shaking as the man shoved him forward until he was stumbling to a stop a few feet away from Makoto.

“Taeminnie,” Makoto said, his voice quiet. “What have I been telling you?”

Taemin stayed quiet, eyes dropping to the ground. Some days that would have been the right move, staying quiet until Makoto finished yelling at him. Other days, it was the wrong move. Today must have been one of those other days, because the next thing he knew, there was a hand wrapped around his throat, dragging him forward, lifting him until just the tips of his toes were on the ground.

“ _What have I been telling you_?” Makoto shouted, lips right next to Taemin’s ear. He flinched, hand wrapped around Makoto’s wrist, pulling uselessly at it, trying to find some atom of oxygen. “What are the  _rules_ , Taemin? What are  _my rules_?”

“A-appointments,” Taemin whispered, “appointments. Please.”

The hand loosened, shoving him backwards and into Key, who barely managed to catch him and keep them both on their feet. Taemin doubled over, coughing, but Makoto kept talking over him, pacing back and forth.

“Do you know where you would be without me?”

“On the streets,” Taemin whispered, voice rough.

“No!” Makoto shouted, rounding on him again. Taemin flinched back, further into Key’s arms. Key’s grip tightened as though he’d been struck with the sudden urge to protect him. “You would be  _dead_  on the streets, in the gutters, buried in an unmarked, unnamed grave if anyone found you and bothered to bury you, like the rest of you stupid children of mothers who don’t give a damn. You’d have starved, frozen, been beaten to death, I don’t know, and I don’t care, but you owe your life to  _me_! And you!”

This time it was Key that jumped, carefully stepping away from Taemin as Makoto rounded on him. Taemin wasn’t sure if it was to protect him or to move himself away from the initial target of Makoto’s wrath.

“I raised you. I gave you a place to sleep, I made sure you had food. All I ask in return, after  _how many years_?, is that you take care of the brat. All I want from you is that you do your job, you make sure that he does his. You have more guarantees than most people  in this  _world_ , Key, and what do you do?”

“I’m sorry,” Key said, head down. “I’ll try harder. I’ll make sure I do it right.”

“How many years, Key?”

“T-ten,” Key said, and Taemin had never heard him stammer like that. “Ten years.”

Makoto nodded and one of the lackeys punched Key in the face, snapping his head back. Key never even made a sound, just pressed his hand beneath his nose to try to stem the flow of blood.

“I’m sorry,” Key whispered, blood running over his lips. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll do better. I’ll watch him. Please, I’m sorry.”

As quick as anything, Makoto calmed, putting his arms around Key like some sort of benevolent father and drawing him in. Key stood still in his grasp, except for the shuddering breaths racking his shoulders. Taemin didn’t know how much of that was pain and how much of it was fear of what Makoto could, and would, do if he suddenly got angry again.

“You’ll do better,” Makoto said, voice calming and soothing, but he wasn’t looking at Key. He was watching Taemin where he stood with his arms wrapped around himself, trying to be very, very small and insignificant. “You’ll do better and it’ll be okay. Taemin--”

Taemin jumped, eyes flashing up to look at him and then back down. “Yes, sir?”

“You have an appointment. He’s waiting for you just down the hall. I’ll stay here with Key and make sure he’s okay.”

“I—I’m not…”

“I don’t care that you’re ‘not,’” Makoto snarled. “You will go.”

Taemin caught the fear on Key’s face and he nodded, locking eyes with him. “I’m going.”

One of the men led him down a hallway and to a door. He swallowed and opened the door, cringing when he saw his appointment. The man was eager and unattractive, not that the devastatingly attractive men often needed to come to Makoto for their whores, almost jittering on the bed while Taemin took his time undressing.

At least this part was easy, the quick flicks of skin, a collarbone, a flash of shoulder, before the shirt fell to the ground, discarded. He’d even made an art of taking off shoes and socks, one hand pressed to his stomach to remind the man to look there, at the expanse of skin he would be able to touch in just a few seconds. It left only his jeans, not the pair he usually would have worn and a bit too loose to properly entice, but he hooked his thumb over the button anyway and took a few steps closer.

“What’s your name?” Taemin asked, gazing at the man as though he were actually attracted to him, regardless of the disgust welling up in his throat.

“Jihoon.”

Taemin stepped closer still, resting his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders, running his fingers across the back of his neck and across his shoulderblade. He was so close that he could feel Jihoon’s unsteady breath on his stomach. He took Jihoon’s hands in his and brought them around to the button of his jeans. When the man’s fingers brushed his stomach, Taemin deliberately let his eyes close, let out some of his breath as though the touch affected him.

From there, the man stripped Taemin out of the rest of his clothes, pushed him down to the bed. He worked himself out of his pants, without bothering with his shirt, which Taemin generally preferred, hands pawing at Taemin’s skin. If Taemin hadn’t already had almost three years of experience, he wouldn’t have been able to feign desire.

“He was right about you,” Jihoon said, fumbling with the condom wrapper. Taemin rolled his eyes when the other man wasn’t looking, but played along, sitting up and taking the mangled package from his fingers, opening it himself.

“Who was right about me?” Taemin asked, letting his voice get a little weaker. This one clearly wanted to pretend this was right and normal, that Taemin wanted this, not that he was paying a sixteen-year-old for sex.

“A friend. He said you were perfect and so, so sexy.”

Great. Now friends were sharing him, as if everything hadn’t been fucked up enough before he found that out. How did you have that conversation anyway? “I know you like cock, so here, this is my favorite prostitute”? Taemin smiled, teeth catching on his lower lip for just a second, just long enough to play coy. He slid closer to Jihoon, taking the man’s erection in his hand, swallowing down his revulsion.

“Do you want me?” Taemin asked, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, earning a shaky groan from him. “Take me, if you want me.” He leaned back a little, giving the man a good view of his body. Taemin knew what he looked like, he knew he was thin and still muscular, young enough and  _male_  enough to be forbidden and so desirable. “Please.”

It was quick from there, the man urging Taemin to slide the condom on and a quick application of lube, because that was in the rules for the whores like Taemin who had to have quick rebound times, and Taemin  _knew_  it was going to hurt, because he wasn’t at all prepared. He’d had worse, but it didn’t mean that it was going to be any fun.

It wasn’t. He did his best to pretend it was, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth whenever Jihoon wasn’t looking. He still had to moan and pant and writhe like it felt good, when all he wanted to do was curl up and wait for the pain to pass.

Jihoon was a little below average, as far as most everything went, for which Taemin was grateful. He waited until Jihoon left to try to dress, scrubbing with the heel of his hand at tears he didn’t let fall until the door shut. Getting dressed was a process. His hands were shaking so badly he had to stop a time or two and shake them violently, trying to regain a little bit of control. Once he’d worked his clothes on, he still had to walk back to the room where he had left Makoto and Key. He walked along the wall, upper body pressed against it for whatever support he could get. It wasn’t an unusual sight in compounds like these, and the few people that walked by hardly even spared him a glance.

Makoto had gone, when Taemin finally made it to the room, but Key was sitting against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees, head bowed. There were spots of blood on his shirt, but the rest of it had been cleaned off his skin. He stood when Taemin stepped in, and crossed the room in a few quick strides, letting Taemin collapse against his chest. He understood pain and even Taemin would never understand it the way he did.

“It’s okay,” Key murmured, petting the back of his head. “It’s okay. It’ll stop hurting soon. It passes. It always passes.”

It took almost twenty minutes before Taemin could walk on his own. Makoto had taken the car, leaving the two of them to walk several miles back to their apartment. A time or two, Key tried to carry Taemin on his back, but that pain was almost worse than when he walked. When they got finally got back to their apartment and climbed the seven flights of stairs, Taemin crashed immediately, falling asleep in their small bed and leaving Key to cook some of the food Heechul had delivered while they were gone.

The food was sitting, cold, on the table when he woke up. There was no note, but Taemin wouldn’t have been able to read it anyway, so he assumed Key had gone on an appointment. It was dark outside, but he was only mildly surprised when he heard a knock at the door.

Grimacing at the pain in his lower back, he stood and hobbled toward the door. There was woman standing there. Taemin vaguely recognized her as one of Makoto’s older prostitutes, one of the ones already used up, probably one that only the most desperate of men would take. She smiled brokenly at him, teeth browned and jagged, and held out two needles.

“Come on, love. Pick your poison.”

Her voice was slurred, a sure sign of one of Makoto’s addicts. He didn’t know what she was addicted to, but he didn’t much care. She wasn’t offering him the needles out of any concern for him. It was probably one of Makoto’s tricks, trying to bind him more tightly to their shared owner. She held one up.

“You’ll like this one. Things get good with this one. Happy. You’re happy. Faster. Much, much faster. Good, yes?”

Taemin crossed his arms over his chest, wishing for once that Key was around. He had no great love for the other man, but it would have been nice to have someone around to help him figure out what the fuck was going on.

The woman, perhaps sensing that she wasn’t winning him over took a step closer, one foot inside the threshold. Taemin recoiled. Up this close he could see she couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six, but she looked much older and gave off a faint, chemical odor. She was an addict, sure as anything.

“This one then. This one. Makes things fuzzy. Fuzzy and nice. Pain stops. Everything stops. You’ll like it, huh. I need—ah, you,  _you_  need this. I need you to take this. You’ll like it.”

That one was tempting. He almost reached out for it, just a twitch in that direction, but she must have seen. She lunged forward and grabbed his arm, shoving his sleeve up, tugging the cap off the needle with her teeth. “You’ll like it. Smooth. Fuzzy. Nice. Things stop mattering. Yes?”

He tried to pull away, but it was a half-hearted motion. If Makoto didn’t get him this way, after forcing him into a house with a babysitter who was only two years older than him, after showing him what he was willing to do to the babysitter if he didn’t cooperate, he would get Taemin some other way. This… this was probably easier than getting locked in one of his compounds, losing his place as one of the most expensive whores. Plus, if she was right, things would be better.

Taemin nodded and the woman made a strangled sound of pure joy and just about shoved the needle into his arm. There was a moment of sharp pain and the sensation of the liquid drug beneath his skin, a weird tugging at the back of his throat and a few seconds of nausea, then a brilliant light behind his eyelids.

He was floating in some sort of ethereal place with soft lights and warmth. It was confusing, when he tried to force himself to think, so he stopped. It was nice. Nicer than he ever remembered feeling. It was so nice that when he was finally coming to, drawn back to consciousness by time and the feeling of hands gripping his arms so hard it hurt, he did whatever he could to hold onto it.

“Taemin! Goddamn it. Taemin!”

The words only barely made sense, but the sharp, stinging pain on his cheek did. His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up at Key, who released a breath as soon as he did.

“What the  _fuck_  was that?” Key demanded, urging Taemin to sit up. “What the hell did you do? Do you have any,  _any_  idea what Makoto will do to me if you die on my watch? Just…  _fuck_. Don’t do that! The door was wide open, Taemin, are you stupid?”

It took Taemin a few seconds to even realize what Key was saying, much less comply with his attempts to get him on his feet. He’d been curled up in the corner of the kitchen with no memory of getting there. He must have walked the few feet from the door, past the stove, but he didn’t remember anything after the drug hit.

“Makoto,” Taemin mumbled, letting Key haul him to his feet. He didn’t miss the grimace of pain on Key’s face and briefly considered telling him  _he_  should try the drug, but the thought flitted out of his mind before he could even begin to articulate it. “Gift.”

“I don’t even think you’re speaking a language on this earth right now,” Key grumbled. He helped Taemin back to the couch and dropped him down onto it, muttering a curse as he straightened. His hand dug into his pocket and came out with a half-smoked cigarette that he lit with a quick flick of his lighter. He sat on the couch beside Taemin and tossed the lighter onto the scarred table.

Without thinking, his body still drowsy, Taemin tipped slightly over, resting his head on Key’s shoulder. As a general rule, Taemin tolerated Key’s presence only because it was Makoto’s orders, and the next step had been to lock him in one of the compounds. Regardless, Key slipped his arm around Taemin’s shoulder, flicking some ash to the tabletop with his other hand.

“You need to be careful, kid.”

“’M careful,” Taemin insisted, but Key only laughed.

“I wish you could hear yourself right now. What did he give you?”

Taemin shrugged slowly, still lethargic. “Not Makoto. Some old whore of his. Useless. Meth, I think.”

“She gave you  _meth_?” Key demanded. He took a breath, doubtless to begin some sort of tirade that Taemin was in no mood to hear. He interrupted him with sudden, soft giggles.

“Noooo. She meth. Me… something else.”

“You are something else,” Key agreed. He sighed at last. “I’m going to have to get you more of it, aren’t I?”

Taemin nodded, eyes drifting closed again. “Yup.”

Key slipped his arm underneath Taemin’s. “You’re not falling asleep out here. Come on. Into the bedroom.”

He managed to haul Taemin to his feet, despite Taemin being less than useful in the attempt. When he leaned a little too heavily against him, he remembered that Key was probably in pain, too. It was an unpleasant reminder of why he’d chosen this drug in the first place.

“Sorry,” Taemin mumbled, trying to take a little more of his own weight.

“It’s okay,” Key said, settling him on the bed and going to the closet to grab some new clothes for him. “I’ll find out what Makoto gave you and get you some more. If it helps, it helps.”

Taemin found his eyes closing as Key began undressing him, changing him into clean clothes to sleep in.

“You’re still bleeding,” Key said, sitting at his side and brushing locks of reddish hair off Taemin’s forehead. “Do you hurt?”

He shook his head. “Nothing hurts.” He giggled briefly and then reminded himself that this was a serious subject. “I don’t feel anything.”

“When this drug wears off, let me know if you’re still hurting. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Appointment tomorrow,” Taemin mumbled, sighing at the thought. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Be careful. We can’t afford to have you out of the game for very long. Get some sleep, kid. I’ll wake you up in time to get some food and get ready before tomorrow.”

Taemin yawned and nodded, rolling over onto his side and letting his eyes close completely. There was a pause and then the bed dipped and he felt arms wrap around him from behind. He was confused for a second, but then leaned into Key’s arms, deciding he probably needed the same comfort he was trying to give. He was probably going to have to put up with Key for a long time anyway, until one of them died or stopped making enough money for Makoto to give a damn, so he might as well try to get along.


	11. Drabble 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OnKey breakup

Kibum was getting restless. He knew the feeling. It was the urge to walk, to move, to go somewhere that wasn’t here. He also knew what was causing it. He dreamt every night of the men, taking and demanding and forcing until he woke, covered in cold sweat and usually on the floor, sometimes in the corner of the bedroom or even the hallway. He made it to the front door one time before he woke up.

Kibum hated it. He hated that Jinki spent half his time watching out for him, waiting until he slept to sleep, making sure the deadbolt and chain lock were both fastened before bed, making sure Kibum’s keys were hidden away where his sleep-panicked self couldn’t find them.

It was making Jinki ill, even if he tried to pretend it wasn’t. He made sure Kibum was asleep before he fell asleep, he made sure he woke up in the morning before Kibum did, he woke up every time Kibum did. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and he yawned all day. It was too painful.

“I think I’m going to sleep on the couch tonight,” Kibum suggested, voice a little too casual for the words. He kept his head tilted down at the tray of carrots in front of him, but he looked sideways at Jinki. The older man had frozen and was blinking quickly.

“I… Why?”

“Just because,” Kibum said.

“Oh. Um, okay. I-if that’s what you want, I guess… I’ll get the extra sheets.”

Soaking rice forgotten, he turned toward their hall closet, bypassing Kibum with a little extra space. He was always careful to never crowd him, but this was more than usual. The little sliver of pain in Kibum’s heart cracked, but he put an easy smile on his face.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Jinki said, the bundle of bedsheets in his arms. He headed into the living room and Kibum could hear the sound of fabric flapping as Jinki shook it out.

Before too long, the sound of rustling faded and Jinki hadn’t reappeared. Curious, Kibum peeked around the wall and saw Jinki sitting on the half-made couch, head in his hands. Kibum watched him for a few seconds, heart falling further, but retreated to the kitchen when Jinki started to move again.

Dinner that night was awkward, filled with long silences and failed attempts at innocuous conversation. At last, Jinki pushed his bowl aside and stood, heading for the sink.

“Well, I’m going to bed early. Goodnight, Bu—Kibum. I…” Jinki hesitated, looking uncertain. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. You can… If the couch is uncomfortable, you can always come to bed.”

“Leave the dishes,” Kibum offered, trying to find some way to ease the sting. “I’ll do them.”

That seemed to have the opposite effect he had intended and Jinki physically flinched, but he went to the bedroom and Kibum could hear the water start running in their bathroom. After about four minutes, Kibum timed it on the clock on their microwave, the light beneath the bedroom door vanished and he heard their bed creaking as Jinki settled down for the night.

Sleeping on the couch solved his sleeping problems, simply because he did not, in fact, sleep. He lay there, eyes open all night, hastily pretending to be asleep every time something in the apartment creaked for fear of it being Jinki. He even pretended to be asleep when Jinki woke and got ready for work, “slept” through the gentle kiss Jinki pressed to his forehead, and the whispered, “I love you so much, Bummie.”

By the time Jinki came home from teaching, a few hours later than he normally would have, Kibum had made up his mind. He just hadn’t decided how to tell him yet.

Jinki looked as though he were going to try to greet Kibum the way he always did, a hug and a kiss to the cheek, but then thought better of it and went to hang his coat in the hall closet. Kibum waited in the hallway while Jinki took off his shoes. He was moving more slowly than ever, arranging them just so until he finally turned around and Kibum was shocked to see that he had tears shining in his eyes, even if they hadn’t fallen. His instinct was to reach for him, to find out what was wrong, to try to fix it, but he was afraid that was the wrong thing to do.

“You’re unhappy,” Jinki said after a second or so of silence. “I’m making you unhappy.”

“It’s not that at all,” Kibum protested quickly. “Jinki, it’s… It isn’t you.”

The older man turned and walked into the living room, Kibum trailing behind him, chewing on the inside of his lip. A voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Jinki, told him to stop. He ignored it.

“I need to… talk to you,” Kibum said, voice soft. Jinki nodded and turned around, waiting. “I think… We’re not working. The two of us. And it’s not because you haven’t tried. You have. You’ve given me more than anyone in my entire life.”

“But?”

“But I’m not… right for you. You hate how much I smoke, you hate how little I sleep, you hate how easy it is to scare me. Jinki, we will never work.”

Jinki was silent, eyes focused on Kibum’s face.

Kibum swallowed, trying to hold his voice steady so it at least sounded like he was sure about what he was going to do. “Jinki, I’m leaving.”

“Okay.”

Well that… hurt. “Okay?” Kibum echoed.

“I want you happy, Bummie. If you’re not happy with me… Then that’s my fault. I love you, but sometimes that just isn’t enough.”

Kibum nodded, breathing heavily through his nose. “Jonghyun said it was okay if I moved in with him for a little while. I have that interview at the health foods store…”

“Are you packed?”

“Yeah. My clothes… I’ll send Taemin for the rest of it later.”

“Okay.”

It hurt a little bit that all Jinki was saying was ‘okay.’ It’s not that he wanted Jinki to fall to his knees and beg him to stay, and that wasn’t Jinki’s style anyway, but maybe it hadn’t just been Kibum who was getting restless. Kibum swallowed again, picking up the bag of his clothes.

“Well… goodbye, I guess.”

“Kibum--” Jinki hesitated. “I… Goodbye.”

He could feel Jinki watching him as he walked out the door. Jonghyun’s apartment wasn’t far, and he hadn’t accumulated much more than a few sets of clothes in the few months he’d been living with Jinki. Even so, the bag seemed impossibly heavy by the time he pressed the buzzer beside Jonghyun’s name.

“Hello?”

“Jjong?”

There was a pause and then, “Kibum?”

He nodded before he remembered Jonghyun couldn’t see him. “Yeah. It’s me. C-can I come up?”

“Of course.”

The door buzzed and Kibum stepped through. Jonghyun was waiting at the door when he reached the fifth floor. He took the bag from Kibum, setting it down just inside the doorway and then held his arms open. Kibum stumbled through the doorway and wrapped his arms around Jonghyun, biting down on his lip to try to stop the tears.

“He didn’t even try to stop me.”

Jonghyun shushed him as though he already were crying. “He thought it was best for you. He always wants what was best for you.”

“He just said ‘okay.’ That’s it. He didn’t…” Kibum had to stop, biting down harder on his lip until he tasted blood.

He let Jonghyun pull him into the apartment and settle him on the couch. He took a quick breath to get control of himself.

“I’ll start looking for a new place as soon as I get a job. The person I talked to at the store said the interview was really a formality…”

Jonghyun just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. I have a spare bedroom. It’s got a couple guitars in it and some cheap-ass recording equipment, but there should be room for you in there.”

Kibum spent a few minutes on Jonghyun’s couch, then went into the bedroom. He had hardly closed the door when he heard Jonghyun speaking quietly into a phone.

“Jinki? Yeah, he’s here. No. Why didn’t he just go to Taemin’s?... No, of course he can stay here as long as he wants. What, did you think I was going to throw him out on the streets?” There was a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. Just chill the fuck out, okay?” Another pause. “Yeah, I’ll do that. He’s a big boy, Jinki. He can take care of himself. Goodbye.”

Kibum spent the next two weeks in Jonghyun’s apartment. Jonghyun accused him of moping, but he wasn’t moping. Kim Kibum didn’t mope. He just selectively left the apartment for the interview and then only for work. It wasn’t until the Tuesday morning that Taemin showed up at Jonghyun’s door that he went anywhere else, and he wasn’t given any sort of choice in the matter.

He’d been sitting on the couch in Jonghyun’s living room, legs crossed under him, staring blankly at the television. The door opened, but he hardly thought about it. It really wasn’t until a hand seized his shoulder and almost pulled him off the couch that he realized Jonghyun was still sleeping off his drinking from the night before.

He fell into a solid form and after a bit of work, managed to get his feet on the floor and stand, staring at Taemin in shock. “What the--”

“What the hell are you doing?” Taemin demanded. He looked absolutely livid and that rendered Kibum speechless.

“I’m—What?”

“So you dump Jinki, fine. I don’t get a say in that. You move in with Jonghyun, also fine. But you  _hide out_  like a fucking kicked dog?”

“I am not hiding!”

“What are you doing, then?” Taemin asked. He shoved hard at Kibum’s shoulder. “If you’re going to break up with him because… Why?”

Kibum sank down on the couch. Taemin sat beside him, waiting.

“I’m all wrong for him, Taemin.”

Taemin stayed silent.

“I’m not right for him. He deserves someone who’s not… not me. Someone who can love him.”

“So you don’t love him?”

Kibum pressed his hands to his face, drawing in a ragged breath. “How am I supposed to  _know_ , Taemin? The only people in my life I’ve ever loved are my mother and you, and that is so different from what I’m supposed to feel for Jinki.”

He felt an arm slip around his shoulders and he turned into Taemin’s embrace. Taemin’s hand ran gently up and down Kibum’s back. It didn’t make him feel much better, but it was comforting and familiar.

“It’s better that I break his heart now than later. It’s… How do you do it?”

“Hm? How do I do what?”

“You were  _fourteen_  when you started. Makoto at least waited until I was seventeen to whore me out. How do you just…”

He felt the subtle change in Taemin’s grip on him. It tightened for just a fraction of a second, so quickly that he hardly would have noticed if not for the way Taemin’s voice changed when he spoke. His words were clipped, as though he were trying to get them out without thinking much about what they meant.

“We were different, you and I. I was… I was a kid. I was protected property. Special. Elite. The first time I showed back up with a bruise, Makoto had one of his guys beat the man. He kept me safe until I was sixteen. He threw you to the wolves, Kibum.

“Minho was the first person ever to show me kindness in any way. I mean, sure, he did buy me once, but he was gentle. I don’t just mean physically gentle. He was… I don’t know how to say this. He was kind. And then when he saved us, it wasn’t because he got his own whore. How is that so different from Jinki?”

“Taemin.”

“Okay. I didn’t come here to convince you to go back to him anyway. I wanted to get you out of the house. Jonghyun said you never go anywhere. Come out with me. Let’s just grab something to eat.”

Kibum didn’t want to, but he’d never really been able to refuse Taemin when he was determined to do something. He let Taemin take him to the Japanese place down the street, let Taemin tease him that both the waitress and the cook were eyeing him, but that the cook probably thought he was a woman.

After that, Taemin showed up occasionally to drag Kibum out. And things got better. He went out on his own more often, even if it was just to go and get some groceries, or to make sure Jonghyun made it back from the bars.

One night, exactly two months after Kibum left Jinki, he got the chance to ask the question that had been bothering him. He’d gone to the bar with Jonghyun and waited long enough for the other man to get a little buzzed, sober enough that he’d be able to answer Kibum’s questions and drunk enough that, ideally, he could pretend to forget by morning.

Kibum was working his way through the second drink he’d never even heard of before and Jonghyun was on his fourth, possibly fifth. The music was loud enough to make him wince, but he hit Jonghyun in the arm, drawing his attention back from the waitress.

“What?”

“I have a question.”

Jonghyun blinked at him a little blearily, but nodded. “Go for it.”

“How’s Jinki?”

He must not have waited long enough because Jonghyun paused with the drink to his lips. He set the glass down on the napkin on the table.

“He’s miserable, what do you expect? He hasn’t had a lot of people in his life to care about.”

Apparently, Kibum had waited long enough for Jonghyun to not bother sugarcoating his words. They hurt a little, more than a little, digging into his chest like shards of steel.

“But he’s okay?”

“He doesn’t understand why you left. He thinks he was his fault and goddamn if getting him to admit that wasn’t the work of weeks.”

“It wasn’t--!”

“No, but to hear him tell it, you were there and then you weren’t. You told him you loved him, and then you left.”

Kibum shrank back in his chair. Jonghyun sighed and looked down at the glasses on the table. “Let’s just go home.”

Jonghyun didn’t wait for Kibum to agree or disagree, but stood up, wavering a little on his feet before he steadied himself, and then headed for the door. Kibum grabbed both of their coats and followed. He tried to catch Jonghyun’s shoulder to help him walk, but the older man shook him off and strode a few angry paces ahead, letting Kibum trail behind the entire way back to the apartment.

Kibum slept badly that night; he always did after drinking, but it was worse than usual, half-dreams that left him exhausted. He dragged himself out of bed for work that next morning, not having had enough to drink to leave him hungover, but feeling that way anyway. Jonghyun’s room was quiet, and Kibum wasn’t surprised he was still sleeping. Kibum was more than willing to let him stay that way.

The eight-hour shift felt much longer than that, despite his co-worker’s non-stop chatter. Normally, it didn’t bother him, but by the time his replacement came, Kibum hardly waited to pass on greetings. He stepped onto the street, dialing Taemin’s number almost on reflex.

“Hello?” Taemin asked.

“Hey. What are you doing now?”

Kibum could almost hear the look Taemin was giving the phone. “Sitting at home. Fridays are my day off, and Minho’s at work.”

“Come to Insomnia.”

“Are you alright?” Taemin asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just meet me there?”

“Okay. I’ll meet you there in ten?”

“Thanks.”

Kibum had avoided Insomnia since he’d broken up with Jinki, but it was two in the afternoon and everyone else should have been at work. He figured it was probably safe enough, as long as they were out before Jinki’s classes finished at four. Truthfully, after two months, Kibum wasn’t even sure if they still met for coffee after work, but he figured it was better to give himself plenty of time. He stepped into Insomnia’s warmth just after two-fifteen. Taemin was already waiting with two drinks at a table in the corner, far from the high table in front of the window.

“What’s wrong?” Taemin asked as soon as Kibum sat down.

Kibum waited a few seconds, taking his time sipping at his latte and savoring the flavor, before he answered. “I talked to Jonghyun last night.”

“Yeah, that’s what Minho said. Jonghyun’s been hiding in our living room since about six-thirty this morning.”

Kibum wrinkled his nose. “Really? I thought he was still sleeping.”

“He showed up when Minho was getting ready for work and hasn’t left yet.”

“How was that?”

Taemin shrugged. “He just ignored me most of the time. I’m getting used to it.” Kibum started to tell Taemin exactly what he should do to Jonghyun when Taemin let out a sharp sigh. “Don’t be stupid, Kibum. It’s fine. Minho’s angry enough as it is.”

“At you?”

“No, not at me.”

Taemin fixed him with that look, the one Kibum had become so familiar with over the last years of their lives. Kibum took another drink of his latte, suddenly finding it bland and tasteless.

“Is Jinki really that upset?”

“He’s heartbroken. Did you think he wouldn’t be?”

“Still?”

“He loves you,” Taemin said, as though that were explanation enough. Taemin started to say something else, but he froze with his mouth half-open, staring over Kibum’s shoulder.

Kibum turned slowly, almost expecting to see Makoto looming in the doorway. Jinki had just stepped inside, his head turned to talk to whoever was behind him. He tripped over the doorjamb, giving Kibum a brief view of Minho, and then he straightened.

“I didn’t tell them I was coming,” Taemin said quickly. “I swear.”

Kibum started to turn back around, but instead he found himself standing, taking a few steps toward the door. Jinki’s head lifted and he stopped so suddenly Minho bumped into him.

“Jinki, what the hell?”

“Kibum?”

“Hi,” Kibum said. He didn’t think he was capable of stringing together any more syllables than that.

He vaguely heard Minho say something, and then Taemin was working his way out from behind the table, leaving Kibum and Jinki alone.

“Can I sit?” Jinki asked after a lengthy span of awkward silence. Kibum nodded, staring at Jinki as he settled himself in Taemin’s vacated chair. He’d been okay at Jonghyun’s, when the only reminders of Jinki he had were the pictures on his cell phone he hadn’t been able to make himself delete yet. Seeing Jinki here in front of him made things very complicated.

“H-How are you?” Kibum asked, the words sticking in his throat. He took another drink of his coffee and nearly choked on it.

“I’m… I’m okay. How are you?”

Jinki’s stare was making Kibum self-conscious. He set the cup down, pushing it a little away. The coffee stains on the table suddenly became very interesting. Kibum looked down at them, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

“Good. I got the job with the store.”

“How do you like it?”

“It’s not rocket science, but I like my coworkers well enough. I think once I have enough money saved, I’ll get a place of my own.”

“Good. That’ll be… good.”

“This is stupid, Jinki,” Kibum said. “It’s not like we’re strangers. We can talk like normal people.”

Jinki hesitated and then stood, bracing his hands on the table, sending the coffee cups to shaking, although they stayed upright. “No, we can’t. We… Kibum, it  _hurts_  to look at you. I’m sorry. Maybe later, after some more time has passed, then we can talk. I need to go.”

Before Kibum could even form a protest, Jinki was out the door. Kibum floundered for a few seconds. He never expected Jinki to leave like that. Really, he hadn’t expected leaving to hurt this bad, for either of them.

Kibum jumped to his feet and practically ran out of the coffee shop. It took him a moment to identify the back of Jinki’s coat in the afternoon crowd, but when he did he sprinted after it, catching Jinki’s elbow just at the end of the block.

Jinki turned slowly to face him.

“Kibum, please don’t do this.”

“Why?” Kibum asked. There was a strange tumultuous feeling in his stomach. “Why not?”

Jinki glanced around them. He caught Kibum’s shoulder and pulled him into an alleyway, somewhat secluded from the bustle around them.

“Because I can’t remember how much I love you and then hear you talk about finding a new place to live when I know  _damn well_  you should be living with me.”

Kibum took a step back in surprise. Jinki never,  _ever_  swore. Even Jinki looked surprised. Kibum reached out and brushed his fingers through Jinki’s hair.

“Jinki.”

“Kibum,  _don’t_.”

“Jinki, listen to me.” He waited until Jinki’s fidgeting stopped before he started speaking again. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not sure what I feel. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if… I don’t know if I love you, I don’t know if I love you as much as you love me. Jinki, I don’t _know_  these things! I don’t understand them!”

Kibum felt Jinki’s arms wrap around him suddenly, pulling him in tight. He felt a moment of panic at the grip. Jinki released him immediately and then hugged him, much more gently this time. Kibum returned the hug, burying his face against Jinki’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Bummie. It’s okay. I love you. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Come home with me. We can figure it out. Please, come home with me.”

Kibum nodded and then nodded again, hands clenching hard in the back of Jinki’s coat. “I missed you.”

Jinki pressed his lips to Kibum’s forehead, stroking his hand down Kibum’s back. “I missed you, too. Come home.”


	12. Drabble 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto gives Taemin a birthday present. If you've read my previous fics you'll recognize Taemin's driver. I wasn't even particularly subtle.

It happened the day Taemin turned eighteen. He’d never really been fond of birthdays, having nothing to celebrate but an approximate date somewhere in the third week of July. He knew his birthday was somewhere around there, but Makoto always picked an arbitrary day somewhere in that week for his “birthday present.” His real present came the week after that, which he was usually given to recover.

The day he turned sixteen, or the day Makoto decided to market him as sixteen, he’d been sent to a group of four men. His seventeenth birthday he was given to a man who liked water-play. He’d spent that birthday certain he wouldn’t see another one. The next was probably going to be the worst. Makoto had already picked out the date. The eighteenth, in honor of his eighteenth birthday.

Key had saved all their extra money for a month just so he could afford to bring home something special for him. Taemin told him again and again not to waste the money, to spend it on something useful, but Key had none of it. It was nothing more than a bottle of cheap wine, but it was more than anyone else had bought him.

They spent the night drinking in silence, sitting side-by-side on their sagging, old couch. The wine wasn’t enough to get them drunk, but Taemin got a nice buzz, enough to let him lean into Key’s side and rest his head on the older man’s shoulder. For his part, Key didn’t argue, letting him sit there.

Taemin did his best not to think about what was coming, choosing to focus instead on the drowsy warmth suffusing his body. Shortly before midnight, Key sat forward, collecting the empty wine glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other.

Taemin watched him with half-closed eyes. He washed out the glasses and put them away, dropping the wine bottle into their garbage with a clink. When Key turned back toward the couch, he had a dark expression on his face that didn’t fade even when he sat back on the couch.

“Taemin…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Taemin, listen to me,” Key said. He waited until Taemin glanced at him. “Has he said anything to you about what’s going to happen this year?”

“He never does,” Taemin said, shrugging. “Last year I asked, he said it wasn’t a ‘surprise.’”

“Some of the others have been talking--”

“Don’t,” Taemin snapped, finally losing his patience. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to spend the rest of tonight and the few hours I have tomorrow knowing what’s going to happen to me.”

“But after last year--”

“Key,  _please_.”

Key stood up and turned away, his hands hunting for a cigarette in his pocket. “It’s not fucking  _fair_  that he does this to you. He doesn’t do it to the rest of us.”

“None of the rest of you make him as much money as I do, and I can almost double it on my ‘birthday.’” Taemin dug a cigarette out of the drawer and pushed it against Key’s lips. He accepted it with a dry smile and let Taemin light it. Taemin waited until he had taken a few breaths before he added, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t know what he could do to me that would be worse than last year.”

The little dingy clock on the wall in their kitchen struck midnight and Taemin shuddered.

“I should go to bed,” he whispered.

Key hugged him tight, then let him go. He turned back to the window, cigarette glowing red in the darkness as Taemin shut off the lights and headed into the bedroom. He was just drifting off when Key came to bed, smelling of cigarette smoke and dish soap. Key wrapped him in his arms and held him close.

\---

Key was still asleep when Taemin woke. He got ready quietly in their bathroom, hoping to avoid a repeat of last night’s conversation. He didn’t know and he didn’t want to know. It just made it worse.

Makoto hadn’t told him anything about what to wear or how to look. For his fifteenth birthday, he was just told to ‘look pretty.’ On his sixteenth birthday, he’d told him to make sure it was easy to get off. Last year he’d said to wear something that looked good under water. This year, nothing.

Without any further direction, Taemin went with what he generally wore for assignments: pants that were tight enough to entice and hint at what his customers would be getting, and a similarly tight shirt. He pulled his hair back out of his eyes and inspected his face. He looked tired, skin unnaturally pale, even down to his arms, making the tracks on his arms darker than usual.

He took as long as he could preparing himself for the appointment, but eventually the clock in their kitchen chimed eleven and he had no choice but to leave if he wanted to be to the compound before eleven-thirty.

Key hadn’t stirred, so Taemin slipped from the room, shrugging a sweatshirt on to cover his arms. The weather was too hot for long sleeves, but it was better than waving a flag proclaiming him a prostitute. It wasn’t a safe neighborhood by any means and Makoto’s name only saved him if people took the time to ask.

It was a quick, and fortunately uneventful, walk to the compound. It was the one he and Key spent the most time at, nearest to their home and one of the most popular. A woman waited at the door, opening it for him and leading him directly to a bedroom without saying a word. It was down an unfamiliar hallway, but the room was identical to any of the others, a bed and a bedside stand, with a tiny bathroom off to one side.

Taemin pulled his sweatshirt off, disposing of it in a corner. He took a few breaths to compose himself, hearing footsteps coming down the hallway. He wasn’t nervous about appointments, not after so many years. It was the fear of not knowing who or what was coming. He took another deep breath as the door swung open and Makoto stepped through.

“Sir?” Taemin asked. Makoto had never accompanied the man to the door before, that duty was delegated to the people who opened the door. Maybe he had canceled?

“Get on the bed.”

“S-sir?”

“You heard me.”

There was a dangerous look in Makoto’s eye. Taemin didn’t dare ask again, walking to the edge of the bed. He hesitated at the edge a moment too long and Makoto shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling. He hit the floor, hand ending up awkwardly beneath his body, feeling a sharp flash of pain in his wrist. He climbed to his feet as quickly as he could.

“Undress.”

Taemin pulled his shirt over his head, biting down on his lip when his wrist flared in pain. He stepped out of his pants and stood there, gazing down at the carpeted floor.

He didn’t understand. Makoto never touched his prostitutes, not like this. There was talk that he’d had a favorite once, but even then he hadn’t touched him. It was their one guarantee. He whored them out, he beat them, but he never touched them.

“Turn around.”

Taemin turned, pressing his hands against his thighs to stop them from shaking. A hand curled over his shoulder, blunt fingertips digging in just a little more than necessary. That hand slid down his chest, pressing against his stomach, and pulling him sharply back.

Makoto was already hard, breathing heavily against Taemin’s neck. He stood there for a few seconds, then shoved Taemin’s upper body forward. He caught himself on the mattress, elbow almost buckling when another spike of pain and a small popping noise came from his injured wrist, standing with his head down. There was a rustling of clothing, the sound of a cap flipping open, paper ripping.

He was used to this by now. He knew how to detach from what he was feeling. This was only his job and when he was done, he could go back home and burn this from his skin. It was so much more difficult this time, even as he went through the familiar steps to relax his body and let his mind go elsewhere.

Something about this was different, but Taemin didn’t know what it was. Makoto’s hands touched him the same way as other men, grabbing his hips and claiming him with his fingers. He was no louder or quieter than any of his other customers.

Taemin bit his lip as Makoto adjusted his hands on Taemin’s hips. He knew what happened next. Makoto pushed inside and Taemin bit down to stifle his cry, blood spilling into his mouth. He stayed quiet. He was proud of that, even as he struggled to breathe. It wasn’t the pain, it wasn’t even the shame burning in his chest. He hardly felt either sensation anymore.

Sex was sex; a trade of a service for money. Taemin was nothing more than a commodity, never would be anything more than an item bought and sold for a night or an hour. He was unprepared for the sensation when he felt Makoto’s hand skating down his stomach, then take him firmly in hand. The movement matched perfectly with the rhythm Makoto had set and despite himself, Taemin let out a whimper.

“You don’t sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Makoto didn’t want him to enjoy himself. That wasn’t the point of this. Even Makoto’s hand, stroking him to gradual arousal wasn’t for Taemin’s enjoyment. It was to mark him. He knew what his whores experienced every appointment. What better way to prove that they belonged wholly to him than to force them to enjoy what they otherwise wouldn’t?

After so many years of this, most appointments bored him. Makoto seemed determined to not allow him to sink into his façade, the prostitute that made appointments like this bearable. Every time Taemin thought he’d managed it, Makoto would do something else to draw him back, a different movement, a tighter grip, a hand fisted in his hair. It got to the point where Taemin wanted to come just to get it over with.

The appointment was interminable. His body was burning with a mixture of physical arousal and absolute disgust. He could feel Makoto getting close, the signs he’d learned to read after four long years of this. Taemin honestly wasn’t sure if it would be worse to come before Makoto or after. He didn’t have a chance to decide.

Despite his experience as a tool for sex, his own orgasm surprised him. He found no pleasure in appointments and saw no reason to try to find it on his own.  A few quick seconds later, Makoto was finished. He pulled out and threw a robe on, not bothering to even pick up his clothes.

“You have an appointment next Thursday at seven.”

“Yes, sir.”

Taemin waited, seated on the bed with his head bowed, until he heard the door shut behind Makoto. He stood then and headed to the small attached shower to wash the smell of sex from his skin.

The soap they had left him smelling not much better, but at least the worst of the scent was gone. He stepped out of the small bathroom, hair lying lank and knotted down his shoulders, hand cradled against his chest, to find a man waiting. Taemin tensed, thinking for a moment Makoto had lied, but the man jangled some keys.

“I’m supposed to give you a ride home.”

In normal circumstances, if Taemin got in a car with a man, he would have ended up on his back in the back seat, but it wasn’t so unusual for Makoto to provide drivers for some of his prostitutes. Maybe it was his version of a birthday present. Maybe he just liked fucking with Taemin’s head.

“Do you know where I live?” Taemin asked. It was the first time he’d really heard his own voice since before Makoto had told him to strip, and it was a quiet, shaking thing.

The man put a gentle hand on Taemin’s shoulder, steering him from the room. “Yes, I do. Come on, let’s get you home.”

He led Taemin to an old car. It was one of Makoto’s and that gave him another brief pause. Most of the drivers were Makoto’s guards, the muscle he hired to intimidate either customers or his whores, but he’d heard of Makoto’s favorites, the ones he trusted enough to drive themselves to appointments. This man clearly was not one of Makoto’s guards, too much brain and too little brawn.

“Let me see,” he said once they were seated in the car.

“Huh?” Taemin asked.

The man touched Taemin’s forearm. “Let me see.”

When Taemin didn’t move quite quick enough, he leaned over and lifted Taemin’s arm. He ran his hand over the swelling, probing gently and apologizing when Taemin cursed. He didn’t say anything about the marks littering Taemin’s veins, but Taemin could see him looking. Everyone looked.

The man moved Taemin’s arm back to his chest and then reached to start the car. “Ice it when you get home. It’ll help with the swelling. I don’t think anything’s broken. What did you hear when you hurt it?”

“A pop.”

“That’s good. It’s probably just sprained. Do you have any bandages?”

Of course he did. If Key wasn’t coming home with a sprained this or a strained that, it was a lucky week for them. “We have some.”

“Wrap it and you should heal up fine.”

Taemin eyed the man as he turned the key in the ignition, starting the car and backing easily out of the parking spot. He didn’t look special. He had short, messily chopped dark hair with a  long-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, and full-length pants despite the mid-July heat. When he rotated the steering wheel to turn onto a side street, the sleeve rode up, revealing what looked to be a half-healed scar on the top of his arm. It didn’t seem as though he noticed Taemin looking, but he absently tugged the sleeve back down.

Looking more closely now, Taemin could see other scars and bruises ranging from darkest purple to yellowing peeking out from beneath the man’s shirt. Bruises were an occasional byproduct of their job, but Key was the only other person he knew who had injuries like this.

As if reading his mind, the man looked over at him. “How’s Key?”

“Key?”

“Your roommate, right?”

“My babysitter, you mean? He’s good. Makoto makes sure we’re well-fed and the house is warm. Most of the time.”

He laughed. It was a bright laugh, something Taemin had never heard from Key. He pulled over in front of the little house he and Key shared.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

Taemin climbed out, wincing a little at the pain. The car was gone by the time he reached the door, but Key was ushering him in before he could say anything. He was silent as Key helped him inside, the arm around his waist a familiar comfort.

“You don’t look too bad,” Key observed, once he’d gotten Taemin settled on the couch, “and you were only gone for an hour.”

“I’m okay.”

“What happened?”

Taemin shook his head, holding out his arm. Key bent to the drawer in the table beside the couch. He took a seat beside Taemin and slipped the needle beneath his skin.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Taemin said, eyes closed as he waited for the drug to hit his system. It was a lower dose than usual, he could tell that much. He didn’t feel bothered enough to complain about it yet. If he remembered later.

Key put his arm around Taemin’s shoulders and let his head fall to the side. Taemin could hear him give a heavy sigh, but then he dropped beneath the first heavy wave of heroin and let himself drift off to the sensation of Key’s fingers rubbing knots from his neck.

“Happy birthday,” Key muttered, his voice bitter.

Taemin tried to answer, but he decided part way through forming the first syllable that it didn’t really matter.


	13. Drabble 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To understand this drabble, you almost 100% have to have read Hope/Lost, otherwise... pretty much nothing will make sense.

“I love you.”

Key smiled like he was supposed to, sitting up in bed and wrapping his arms around his knees. “That would be the orgasm talking.”

Siwon turned back to him, a frown crossing his admittedly perfect face. “I’m serious, Key.”

“Come back to bed,” Key said, tugging Siwon’s side of the blankets down. “You’ve got me for another couple hours.”

Siwon shook his head, gesturing for Key to join him at the window. Key glanced longingly at his clothes spread throughout the room, then joined Siwon at the window. After so many years it wasn’t so much that nudity bothered Key. And Siwon was easily the most attractive of Key’s patrons, so his nudity definitely wasn’t a problem. But they were going to be standing in front of a massive window.

“It’s tinted,” Siwon said, grinning at his hesitance. “Nobody can see in. But look.”

Key looked. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to see. There were lights shining from thousands of windows even this late at night and car headlights on the road far beneath him. It was beautiful, he supposed. It looked better from up here than it did down there.

“I’m looking…”

“This is mine,” Siwon said, and there was fierce pride in his voice. “Mine and Heechul’s. Even Makoto wouldn’t dare touch you if you stayed with me.”

Usually people gave this line up with a little casual deflection on Key’s part. Siwon, apparently, wouldn’t be redirected.

“I doubt that,” Key said, watching Siwon’s reflection in the glass. He tried to soothe the sting of his words by running his hand across the warm skin of Siwon’s lower back. “Not with Taemin. If it were just me, maybe. But I can’t leave Taemin, and he and I make too much money for him to let us go without a fight.”

“Key—“

“Siwon, stop, please.” Key flinched. If Makoto found out he had taken that tone with a patron he’d have more to worry about than Siwon’s plans.

Siwon’s hand settled on his shoulder, warm and gentle and some part of Key keened for more of that touch. He quashed that part down, locking it away into the furthest recesses of his mind. He had never deserved that kind of gentleness, and he would get it from nobody but Siwon. Siwon who, despite the requirements of his position, would never hurt anyone who wasn’t involved in the life.

“I’ll stop,” he said, wrapping his left arm around Key’s waist, fingers tracing the edge of the mostly healed scar along Key’s hip bone. “The offer stands, but I’ll stop. You’re shivering. Come back to bed with me.”

Key went dutifully along, sliding beneath the blankets. Siwon lay beside him, head propped up on one arm as he looked Key over, that frown back on his face.

“You don’t deserve this,” Siwon said finally, fingers barely brushing an old bruise along Key’s jaw. “I would never let anyone hurt you like that.”

Nobody was supposed to leave marks that high, but for an extra 60,000 Makoto had ignored the discretion. Key was scheduled to see the man again next week.

The practiced smile came easily to Key’s face. “It’s a job.” Before Siwon could get started on love again, Key added, “Can I ask you something kind of rude?”

Siwon laughed, settling back onto the pillows. “Kind of rude? Yeah, go ahead.”

Now that he had permission, Key floundered for something ‘kind of rude’ to ask. “Why do you pay for prostitutes? I mean…” He swept his hand up and down, indicating Siwon’s body. “I think you’d be able to get whoever you wanted.”

He snorted, copying Key’s gesture. But then the amusement faded from his face. “Do you really want to know?” When Key nodded, Siwon’s lips twisted, dark eyes casting downward toward the rich maroon of his blankets. “Because you’re protected. We have run of the city, between Heechul and I. The only trade left is prostitutes and drugs, both of which Makoto controls. There’s always upstarts, kids who think all they need to do to get cred is to off one of us.”

Siwon shifted, rising up on one elbow and twisting so Key could see his shoulder blade. There was a small, round scar there, not fresh, but new enough that the skin was still pale.

“The kid who shot me was an idiot, dead now, and it only cracked the bone. But I can handle myself, and I have Kyuhyun and Hankyung if I need them. Even idiot kids wouldn’t dare touch Makoto’s property, but anybody else could end up getting killed, and I don’t need that on my conscience.”

Siwon had his share of scars, most of them on his arms and hands, and a couple on his torso, from knife fights over the years. But Key couldn’t help the sympathetic grimace when he touched the one on Siwon’s shoulder.

“That looks like it hurt.”

Siwon rolled over to face him. “I don’t think I get to complain.”

“At least I’ve never been shot,” Key said. That brought a smile to Siwon’s face and he leaned in to kiss the starburst burn scar on the front of Key’s shoulder.

“That’s true.”

“And I’ve managed to avoid getting into fights twice a week.”

“I don’t get into fights twice a week anymore. Twice a month, if I’m lucky.”

Siwon leaned in once more, but the sound of someone knocking firmly on the door interrupted him. He groaned, sitting up and making sure Key was fully covered by the blankets.

“Come in.”

After a discrete pause, the door opened, and Zhou Mi stepped in. His eyes flicked across Key once, then fixed firmly on Siwon’s face. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s something that requires your attention.”

“Can it wait?”

“No. Kyuhyun’s already been sent to wake up Heechul.”

Key privately thought Zhou Mi got the better end of the deal. He didn’t envy whoever had the job of rousing Heechul, although of anyone could handle the other half of the pair who led the gang, it would have been Kyuhyun.

Siwon looked over at the clock, rubbing at his face with both hands. It was a little past three in the morning. Anything that required the attention of both Siwon and Heechul at this hour probably wasn’t going to be good. And Siwon hadn’t gotten any sleep yet that night.

“I’ll be out in a minute. Have Henry bring a car around.”

“Sir.”

Zhou Mi backed out of the room, closing the door behind him and calling for Henry. Key could hear the sound of his voice fading as he receded down the hallway.

Key rose onto his knees, resting his forearms on Siwon’s shoulders. “You know where to find me.”

Siwon’s fingers curled over Key’s wrist for a moment, a possessive but unthreatening gesture. “Get dressed. Henry should be ready for you by the time you get downstairs.”

Siwon was dressed and straightening his hair in the mirror by the time Key finished getting ready. There were tense lines to his body Key could see even through his clothes, his lips tight and eyes hard.

“You know what this is about, don’t you?” Key asked.

Siwon met his eyes in the mirror, but didn’t answer him. “Henry will get you home safe. I might not…” Siwon let out a harsh breath. “I might not be able to see you again. But if you ever need anything, come to me. Or Heechul. Any of us. We’ll see you taken care of. You and Taemin, both.”

“Siwon, what’s going on?”

Siwon gave Key a tight smile, brushed his knuckles across Key’s cheek, and then turned to the door. “Zhou Mi!”

The door opened before he’d even finished the second syllable. “Yes, sir?”

“Bring Key to Henry. Is Heechul ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Be careful, Key.”

And with that, he had flowed out the door, jogging down the stairs and collecting his men like planets drawn to their sun. Zhou Mi waited until Key had stopped staring after Siwon to begin leading the way to the valet door, although Key knew the way well enough on his own.

“What’s going on?”

“Siwon will be fine,” Zhou Mi said so smoothly that Key almost believed him.

Except even he was tense. The few people they saw on the stairs were tense. Ryeowook was so intent on where he was going he nearly tripped over Yesung as the older man emerged from another hallway. Yesung didn’t even snap at him. Hankyung only offered Key a tight smile as he passed, talking to Heechul in a low, rapid-fire voice. Key couldn’t understand any of it, the words spilling so quickly off Hankyung’s tongue he may as well have been speaking his native Chinese. Heechul looked right over Key as though not seeing him. But Key understood Heechul’s response well enough.

“If we need to go to war with Makoto, we’ll go to war.”


End file.
